THE    COMEDY   OF  HUMAN  LIFE 
By  H.  DE  BALZAC 


SCENES    FROM    PROVINCIAL  LIFE 


THE  LILY  OF   THE  VALLEY 

(LE    LYS    DANS    LA   VALLEE) 


BALZAC'S     NOVELS. 

Translated  by  Miss  K.  P.  Wormeley. 

Already  Published: 
PERE     GORIOT. 
DUCHESSE     DE     LANGEAIS. 
RISE  AND  FALL  OF  CESAR  BIROTTEAU. 
EUGENIE     GRANDET. 
COUSIN     PONS. 
THE     COUNTRY     DOCTOR. 
THE     TWO     BROTHERS. 
THE    ALKAHEST. 
MODESTE    MIGNON. 
THE   MAGIC    SKIN  (Peau  de  Chagrin). 
COUSIN     BETTE. 
LOUIS     LAMBERT. 
BUREAUCRACY  (Les  Employes). 
SERAPHITA. 
SONS    OF    THE     SOIL. 
FAME    AND    SORROW. 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    Publishers, 
BOSTON. 


0  I    V3 


^E 


HONORE    DE    BALZAC 

TRANSLATED    BY 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT    WORMELEY 


1U» 


THE 


LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

3     SOMERSET     STREET 

BOSTON 

1 891 

UNIVERSITY 

£*urom*L 


of  me      ^V 


Copyright,  1891, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


h 


$7G>e 


TO 


MONSIEUR  J.    B.    NACQUART, 

fflemfcer  of  tfye  Kogal  ^caoemg  of  ffteotrine. 

Dear  Doctor,  —  Here  is  one  of  the  most  carefully 
hewn  stones  in  the  sccp/yt  course  of  the  foundation  of  a 
literary  edifice  which  I  have  slowly  and  laboriously  con- 
structed. I  wish  to  inscribe  your  name  upon  it,  as  much 
to  thank  the  man  whose  science  once  saved  me  as  to  honor 

the  friend  of  my  daily  life.  „, 

DE  BALZAC. 


Sotoo 


CONTENTS. 


PA  GTE 

I.     Two    Childhoods 2 

II.     First   Love 95 

III.     The    Two   Women 229 


LILY   OF   THE   VALLEY. 


ENVOI. 


Felix  de  Vandenesse  to  Madame  la  Comtesse  Natalie  de 
Manerville  : 

I  yield  to  your  wishes.  It  is  the  privilege  of  the 
women  whom  we  love  more  than  they  love  us  to  make 
the  men  who  love  them  ignore  the  ordinary  rules  of 
common-sense.  To  smooth  the  frown  upon  their  brow, 
to  soften  the  pout  upon  their  lips,  what  obstacles  we 
miraculously  overcome !  We  shed  our  blood,  we  risk 
our  future! 

You  exact  the  histoiy  of  my  past  life ;  here  it  is. 
But  remember  this,  Natalie ;  in  obeying  you  I  crush 
under  foot  a  reluctance  hitherto  unconquerable.  Why 
are  you  jealous  of  the  sudden  reveries  which  overtake 
me  in  the  midst  of  our  happiness?  Why  show  the 
prett}'  anger  of  a  petted  woman  when  silence  grasps 
me?  Could  you  not  play  upon  the  contradictions 
of  my  character  without  inquiring  into  the  causes 
of  them?  Are  there  secrets  in  your  heart  which 
seek  absolution  through  a  knowledge  of  mine?  Ah! 
Natalie,  you  have  guessed  mine ;  and  it  is  better 
you  should  know  the  whole  truth.  Yes,  my  life  is 
shadowed  by  a  phantom ;  a  word  evokes  it ;  it  hovers 
vaguely  above  me  and  about  me  ;  within  my  soul  are 

1 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 


solemn  memories,  buried  in  its  depths  like  those  marine 
productions  seen  in  calmest  weather  and  which  the 
storms  of  ocean  cast  in  fragments  on  the  shore. 

The  mental  labor  which  the  expression  of  ideas  ne- 
cessitates has  revived  the  old,  old  feelings  which  give 
me  so  much  pain  when  they  come  suddenly ;  and  if  in 
this  confession  of  my  past  they  break  forth  in  a  way 
that  wounds  }'OU,  remember  that  }'ou  threatened  to 
punish  me  if  I  did  not  obe}r  your  wishes,  and  do  not, 
therefore,  punish  my  obedience.  I  would  that  this,  my 
confidence,  might  increase  your  love. 
Until  we  meet, 

Felix. 


TWO    CHILDHOODS. 

To  what  genius  fed  on  tears  shall  we  some  day  owe 
that  most  touching  of  all  elegies,  —  the  tale  of  tortures 
borne  silently  by  souls  whose  tender  roots  find  stony 
ground  in  the  domestic  soil,  whose  earliest  buds  are 
torn  apart  by  rancorous  hands,  whose  flowers  are 
touched  b)s  frost  at  the  moment  of  their  blossoming? 
What  poet  will  sing  the  sorrows  of  the  child  whose 
lips  must  suck  a  bitter  breast,  whose  smiles  are  checked 
by  the  cruel  fire  of  a  stern  eye?  The  tale  that  tells  of 
such  poor  hearts,  oppressed  b}T  beings  placed  about 
them  to  promote  the  development  of  their  natures, 
would  contain  the  true  history  of  my  childhood. 

What  vanity  could  I  have  wounded,  — la  child  new- 
born? What  moral  or  plrysical  infirmity  caused  my 
mother's   coldness?     Was  I  the  child  of  duty,  whose 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  3 

birth  is  a  mere  chance,  or  was  I  one  whose  very  life 
was  a  reproach?  Put  to  nurse  in  the  country  and  for- 
gotten by  my  family  for  over  three  years,  I  was  treated 
with  such  indifference  on  my  return  to  the  parental  roof 
that  even  the  servants  pitied  me.  I  do  not  know  to 
what  feeling  or  happy  accident  I  owed  my  rescue  from 
this  first  neglect ;  as  a  child  I  was  ignorant  of  it,  as  a 
man  I  have  not  discovered  it.  Far  from  easing  my  lot, 
my  brother  and  ni}'  two  sisters  found  amusement  in 
making  me  suffer.  The  compact  in  virtue  of  which 
children  hide  each  other's  peccadilloes,  and  which  early 
teaches  them  the  principles  of  honor,  was  null  and  void 
in  my  case  ;  more  than  that,  I  was  often  punished  for 
my  brother's  faults,  without  being  allowed  to  prove  the 
injustice.  The  fawning  spirit  which  seems  instinctive 
in  children  taught  m}*  brother  and  sisters  to  join  in  the 
persecutions  to  which  I  was  subjected,  and  thus  keep  in 
the  good  graces  of  a  mother  whom  they  feared  as  much 
as  I.  Was  this  partly  the  effect  of  a  childish  love  of 
imitation  ;  was  it  from  a  need  of  testing  their  powers  ; 
or  was  it  simply  through  lack  of  pity  ?  Perhaps  these 
causes  united  to  deprive  me  of  the  sweets  of  fraternal 
intercourse. 

Disinherited  of  all  affection,  I  could  love  nothing ; 
yet  nature  had  made  me  loving.  Is  there  an  angel  who 
garners  the  sighs  of  feeling  hearts  rebuffed  incessantly? 
If  in  many  such  hearts  the  crushed  feelings  turn  to 
hatred,  in  mine  they  condensed  and  hollowed  a  depth 
from  which,  in  after  years,  they  gushed  forth  upon  my 
life.  In  many  characters  the  habit  of  trembling  relaxes 
the  fibres  and  begets  fear,  and  fear  ends  in  submis- 
sion ;  hence,  a  weakness  which  emasculates  a  man,  and 


4  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

makes  him  more  or  less  a  slave.  But  in  my  ease 
these  perpetual  tortures  led  to  the  development  of  a 
certain  strength,  which  increased  through  exercise  and 
predisposed  my  spirit  to  the  habit  of  moral  resistance. 
Alwa}'s  in  expectation  of  some  new  grief  —  as  the 
martyrs  expected  some  fresh  blow  —  my  whole  being 
expressed,  I  doubt  not,  a  sullen  resignation  which 
smothered  the  grace  and  gayety  of  childhood,  and  gave 
me  an  appearance  of  idioc}'  which  seemed  to  justify. 
my  mother's  threatening  prophecies.  The  certainty  of 
injustice  prematurely  roused  my  pride  —  that  fruit  of 
reason  —  and  thus,  no  doubt,  checked  the  evil  tenden- 
cies which  an  education  like  mine  encouraged. 

Though  m}-  mother  neglected  me  I  was  sometimes 
the  object  of  her  solicitude  ;  she  occasionally  spoke  of 
my  education  and  seemed  desirous  of  attending  to  it 
herself.  Cold  chills  ran  through  me  at  such  times 
when  I  thought  of  the  torture  a  daily  intercourse 
with  her  would  inflict  upon  me.  I  blessed  the  neglect 
in  which  I  lived,  and  rejoiced  that  I  could  stay  alone  in 
the  garden  and  play  with  the  pebbles  and  watch  the 
insects  and  gaze  into  the  blueness  of  the  sk}\  Though 
my  loneliness  naturally  led  me  to  revery,  my  liking  for 
contemplation  was  first  aroused  by  an  incident  which 
will  give  }'Ou  an  idea  of  my  early  troubles.  So  little 
notice  was  taken  of  me  that  the  governess  occasionally 
forgot  to  send  me  to  bed.  One  evening  T  was  peace- 
fully crouching  under  a  fig-tree,  watching  a  star  with  that 
passion  of  curiosity  which  takes  possession  of  a  child's 
mind,  and  to  which  my  precocious  melancholy  gave  a 
sort  of  sentimental  intuition.  My  sisters  were  playing 
about  and  laughing ;  I  heard  their  distant  chatter  like 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  5 

an  accompaniment  to  my  thoughts.  After  a  while  the 
noise  ceased  and  darkness  fell.  My  mother  happened 
to  notice  my  absence.  To  escape  blame,  our  govern- 
ess, a  terrible  Mademoiselle  Caroline,  worked  upon  my 
mother's  fears,  —  told  her  I  had  a  horror  of  my  home  and 
would  long  ago  have  run  away  if  she  had  not  watched 
me  ;  that  I  was  not  stupid  but  sullen ;  and  that  in  all 
her  experience  of  children  she  had  never  known  one  of 
so  bad  a  disposition  as  mine.  She  pretended  to  search 
for  me.  I  answered  as  soon  as  I  was  called,  and  she 
came  to  the  fig-tree,  where  she  very  well  knew  I  was. 
"  What  are  }-ou  doing  there? "  she  asked.  "  Watching 
a  star."  "  You  were  not  watching  a  star,"  said  my 
mother,  who  was  listening  on  her  balcony  ;  "  children  of 
your  age  know  nothing  of  astronomy."  "Ah,  madame," 
cried  Mademoiselle  Caroline,  "  he  has  opened  the  faucet 
of  the  reservoir ;  the  garden  is  inundated  !  "  Then 
there  was  a  general  excitement.  The  fact  was  that  my 
sisters  had  amused  themselves  by  turning  the  cock  to 
see  the  water  flow,  but  a  sudden  spurt  wet  them  all 
over  and  frightened  them  so  much  that  they  ran  away 
without  closing  it.  Accused  and  convicted  of  this  piece 
of  mischief  and  told  that  I  lied  when  I  denied  it,  I  was 
severely  punished.  Worse  than  all,  I  was  jeered  at  for 
my  pretended  love  of  the  stars  and  forbidden  to  stay  in 
the  garden  after  dark. 

Such  tjTannical  restraints  intensify  a  passion  in  the 
hearts  of  children  even  more  than  in  those  of  men ; 
children  think  of  nothing  but  the  forbidden  thing,  which 
then  becomes  irresistibly  attractive  to  them.  I  was 
often  whipped  for  my  star.  Unable  to  confide  in  my 
kind,  I  told  it  all  my  troubles  in  that  delicious  inward 


6  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

prattle  with  which  we  stammer  our  first  ideas,  just  as 
once  we  stammered  our  first  words.  At  twelve  years 
of  age,  long  after  I  was  at  school,  I  still  watched  that 
star  with  indescribable  delight,  —  so  deep  and  lasting 
are  the  impressions  we  receive  in  the  dawn  of  life. 

My  brother  Charles,  five  years  older  than  I  and  as 
handsome  a  boy  as  he  now  is  a  man,  was  the  favorite 
of  my  father,  the  idol  of  my  mother,  and  consequently 
the  sovereign  of  the  house.  He  was  robust  and  well- 
made,  and  had  a  tutor.  I,  puny  and  even  sickly,  was 
sent  at  five  years  of  age  as  day  pupil  to  a  school  in  the 
town  ;  taken  in  the  morning  and  brought  back  at  night 
by.  in}7  father's  valet.  I  was  sent  with  a  scanty  lunch, 
while  my  school-fellows  brought  plenty  of  good  food. 
This  trifling  contrast  between  my  privations  and  their 
prosperity  made  me  suffer  deeply.  The  famous  potted 
pork  prepared  at  Tours  and  called  "  rillettes "  and 
"  rillons  "  was  the  chief  feature  of  their  mid-day  meal, 
between  the  early  breakfast  and  the  parent's  dinner, 
which  was  ready  when  we  returned  from  school.  This 
preparation  of  meat,  much  prized  by  certain  gourmands, 
is  seldom  seen  at  Tours  on  aristocratic  tables  ;  if  I  had 
ever  heard  of  it  before  I  went  to  school,  I  certainly  had 
never  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  that  brown  mess 
spread  on  slices  of  bread  and  butter.  Nevertheless,  my 
desire  for  those  "  rillons  "  was  so  great  that  it  grew  to 
be  a  fixed  idea,  like  the  longing  of  an  elegant  Parisian 
duchess  for  the  stews  cooked  by  a  porter's  wife,  —  long- 
ings which,  being  a  woman,  she  found  means  to  satisfy. 
Children  guess  each  other's  covetousness,  just  as  you 
are  able  to  read  a  man's-  love,  by  the  look  in  the  eyes ; 
consequently  I  became  an  admirable  butt  for  ridicule. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  7 

My  comrades,  near]}'  all  belonging  to  the  lower  bour- 
geoisie, would  show  me  their  "rillons"  and  ask  if  I 
knew  how  the}T  were  made  and  where  the}7  were  sold, 
and  why  it  was  that  I  never  had  any.  They  licked  their 
lips  as  they  talked  of  them  —  scraps  of  pork  pressed 
in  their  own  fat  and  looking  like  cooked  truffles  ;  the\' 
inspected  my  lunch-basket,  and  finding  nothing  better 
than  Olivet  cheese  or  dried  fruits,  the}'  plagued  me 
with  questions :  "Is  that  all  }'Ou  have?  have  3'ou  really 
nothing  else?  "  —  speeches  which  made  me  realize  the 
difference  between  my  brother  and  myself. 

This  contrast  between  my  own  abandonment  and  the 
happiness  of  others  nipped  the  roses  of  mjT  childhood 
and  blighted  my  budding  youth.  The  first  time  that  I, 
mistaking  my  comrades'  action  for  generosit\',  put  forth 
my  hand  to  take  the  daint}T  I  had  so  long  coveted  and 
which  was  now  In'pocritieally  held  out  to  me,  m}'  tor- 
mentor pulled  back  his  slice  to  the  great  delight  of  his 
comrades  who  were  expecting  that  result.  If  noble 
and  distinguished  minds  are,  as  we  often  find  them, 
capable  of  vanity,  can  we  blame  the  child  who  weeps 
when  despised  and  jeered  at?  Under  such  a  trial 
man^T  boys  would  have  turned  into  gluttons  and  cring- 
ing beggars.  I  fought  to  escape  my  persecutors.  The 
courage  of  despair  made  me  formidable ;  but  I  was 
hated,  and  thus  had  no  protection  against  treacheiy. 
One  evening  as  I  left  school  I  was  struck  in  the  back 
by  a  handful  of  small  stones  tied  in  a  handkerchief. 
When  the  valet,  who  punished  the  perpetrator,  told 
this  to  nvy  mother  she  exclaimed:  tl  That  dreadful 
child  !    he  will  always  be  a  torment  to  us." 

Finding  that  I  inspired  in  my  schoolmates  the  same 


8  The  Lily  of  the   Valley, 

repulsion  that  was  felt  for  me  by  my  family,  I  sank  into 
a  horrible  distrust  of  myself.  A  second  fall  of  snow 
checked  the  seeds  that  were  germinating  in  my  soul. 
The  boys  whom  I  saw  most  liked  were  notorious 
scamps  ;  this  fact  roused  my  pride  and  I  held  aloof. 
Again  I  was  shut  up  within  myself  and  had  no  vent  for 
the  feelings  with  which  my  heart  was  full.  The  master 
of  the  school,  observing  that  I  was  gloom}*,  disliked  by 
my  comrades  and  always  alone,  confirmed  the  famil}- 
verdict  as  to  my  sulky  temper.  As  soon  as  I  could 
read  and  write,  my  mother  transferred  me  to  Pont-le- 
V03*,  a  school  in  charge  of  Oratorians  who  took  boys  of 
my  age  into  a  form  called  the  "  class  of  the  Latin  steps" 
where  dull  lads  with  torpid  brains  were  apt  to  linger. 

There  I  remained  eight  years  without  seeing  my 
family ;  living  the  life  of  a  pariah,  —  partly  for  the 
following  reason.  I  received  but  three  francs  a  month 
pocket-mone}*,  a  sum  barely  sufficient  to  buy  the  pens, 
ink,  paper,  knives,  and  rulers  which  we  were  forced 
to  supply  ourselves.  Unable  to  bu}T  stilts  or  skipping- 
ropes,  or  any  of  the  things  that  Here  used  in  the  play- 
ground, I  was  driven  out  of  the  g»nes  ;  to  gain  admis- 
sion on  suffrage  I  should  have  had  to  toady  the  rich  and 
flatter  the  strong  of  my  division.  My  heart  rose  against 
either  of  these  meannesses,  which,  however,  most  chil- 
dren readily  employ.  I  lived  under  a  tree,  lost  in  de- 
jected thought,  or  reading  the  books  distributed  to  us 
monthly  by  the  librarian.  How  many  griefs  were  in  the 
shadow  of  that  solitude  ;  what  genuine  anguish  filled  my 
neglected  life  !  Imagine  what  my  sore  heart  felt  when, 
at  the  first  distribution  of  prizes,  —  of  which  I  obtained 
the  two  most  valued,  namely,  for  theme  and  for  trans- 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  9 

lation,  — neither  my  father  nor  my  mother  was  present 
in  the  theatre  when  I  came  forward  to  receive  the 
awards  amid  general  acclamations,  although  the  build- 
ing was  filled  with  the  relatives  of  all  my  comrades. 
Instead  of  kissing  the  distributor,  according  to  custom, 
I  burst  into  tears  and  threw  myself  on  his  breast. 
That  night  I  burned  nay  crowns  in  the  stove.  The  par- 
ents of  the  other  boys  were  in  town  for  a  whole  week 
preceding  the  distribution  of  the  prizes,  and  mjT  com- 
rades departed  joyfully  the  next  day  ;  while  I,  whose 
father  and  mother  were  only  a  few  miles  distant,  re- 
mained at  the  school  with  the  outremers,  —  a  name 
given  to  scholars  whose  families  were  in  the  colonies 
or  in  foreign  countries. 

You  will  notice  throughout  how  my  unhappiness  in- 
creased in  proportion  as  the  social  spheres  on  which  I 
entered  widened.  God  knows  what  efforts  I  made  to 
weaken  the  decree  which  condemned  me  to  live  within 
myself!  What  hopes,  long  cherished  with  eagerness  of 
soul,  were  doomed  to  perish  in  a  day !  To  persuade 
nnT  parents  to  come  and  see  me,  I  wrote  them  letters 
full  of  feeling,  too  emphatically  worded,  it  may  be ; 
but  surely  such  letters  ought  not  to  have  drawn  upon 
me  my  mother's  reprimand,  coupled  with  ironical  re- 
proaches for  mj'  style.  Not  discouraged  even  then,  I 
implored  the  help  of  my  sisters,  to  whom  I  always 
wrote  on  their  birthdays  and  fete-days  with  the  persist- 
ence of  a  neglected  child  ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain.  As 
the  da}'  for  the  distribution  of  prizes  approached  I  re- 
doubled my  entreaties,  and  told  of  my  expected  tri- 
umphs. Misled  b}'  my  parents'  silence,  I  expected 
them  with  a  beating:  heart.     1   told  mv  schoolfellows 


10  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

they  were  coming  ;  and  then,  when  the  old  porter's  step 
sounded  in  the  corridors  as  he  called  m}T  happy  com- 
rades one  by  one  to  receive  their  friends,  I  was  sick 
with  expectation.  Never  did  that  old  man  call  my 
name  ! 

One  da}*,  when  I  accused  im'self  to  my  confessor  of 
having  cursed  my  life,  he  pointed  to  the  skies,  where 
grew,  he  said,  the  promised  palm  for  the  Beati  qui 
lugent  of  the  Saviour.  -  From  the  period  of  my  first 
communion  I  flung  myself  into  the  mysterious  depths 
of  prayer,  attracted  to  religious  ideas  whose  moral 
fairyland  so  fascinates  young  spirits.  Burning  with 
ardent  faith,  I  prayed  to  God  to  renew  in  my  behalf 
the  miracles  1  had  read  of  in  martyrology.  At  five 
years  of  age  I  fled  to  my  star ;  at  twelve  I  took  refuge 
in  the  sanctuary.  My  ecstasy  brought  dreams  unspeak- 
able, which  fed  my  imagination,  fostered  my  suscepti- 
bilities, and  strengthened  1113*  thinking  powers.  I  have 
often  attributed  those  sublime  visions  to  the  guardian 
angel  charged  with  moulding  my  spirit  to  its  divine 
destiny ;  they  endowed  nrv  soul  with  the  faculty  of 
seeing  the  inner  soul  of  things  ;  they  prepared  my  heart 
for  the  magic  craft  which  makes  a  man  a  poet  when  the 
fatal  power  is  his  to  compare  what  he  feels  within  him 
with  realhy,  —  the  great  things  aimed  for  with  the  small 
things  gained.  Those  visions  wrote  upon  m}'  brain  a 
book  in  which  I  read  that  which  I  must  voice  ;  they 
laid  upon  m3T  lips  the  coal  of  utterance. 

My  father  having  conceived  some  doubts  as  to  the 
tendency  of  the  Oratorian  teachings,  took  me  from 
Pont-le-Voy  and  sent  me  to  Paris  to  an  institution  in 
the  Marais.     I  was  then  fifteen.     When  examined  as 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  11 

to  my  capacity,  I,  who  was  in  the  rhetoric  class  at 
Pont-le-Voy,  was  pronounced  worthy  of  the  third  class. 
The  sufferings  I  had  endured  in  my  family  and  in 
school  were  continued  under  another  form  during  my 
stay  at  the  Lepitre  Academy.  My  father  gave  me  no 
mone}' ;  I  was  to  be  fed,  clothed,  and  stuffed  with 
Latin  and  Greek,  for  a  sum  agreed  on.  During  my 
school  life  I  came  in  contact  with  over  a  thousand  com- 
rades ;  but  I  never  met  with  such  an  instance  of  neg- 
lect and  indifference  as  mine.  Monsieur  Lepitre,  who 
was  fanatically  attached  to  the  Bourbons,  had  had  rela- 
tions with  m}T  father  at  the  time  when  all  devoted  1*03'- 
alists  were  endeavoring  to  bring  about  the  escape  of 
Marie  Antoinette  from  the  Temple.  The}'  had  lately 
renewed  acquaintance ;  and  Monsieur  Lepitre  thought 
himself  obliged  to  repair  my  father's  oversight,  and  to 
give  me  a  small  sum  monthly.  But  not  being  author- 
ized to  do  so,  the  amount  was  small  indeed. 

The  Lepitre  establishment  was  in  the  old  Joyeuse 
mansion  where,  as  in  all  seignorial  houses,  there  was  a 
porter's  lodge.  During  a  recess,  which  preceded  the 
hour  when  the  man-of-all-work  took  us  to  the  Charle- 
magne Lyceum,  the  well-to-do  pupils  used  to  breakfast 
with  the  porter,  named  Doisy.  Monsieur  Lepitre  was 
either  ignorant  of  the  fact  or  he  connived  at  this  arrange- 
ment with  Doisy,  a  regular  smuggler  whom  it  was  the 
pupils'  interest  to  protect,  —  he  being  the  secret  guar- 
dian of  their  pranks,  the  safe  confidant  of  their  late  re- 
turns and  their  intermediary  for  obtaining  forbidden 
books.  Breakfast  on  a  cup  of  cafe-au-lait  is  an  aristo- 
cratic habit,  explained  by  the  high  prices  to  which  colo- 
nial products  rose  under  Napoleon.     If  the  use  of  sugar 


12  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

and  coffee  was  a  luxury  to  our  parents,  with  us  it  was  the 
sign  of  self-conscious  superiority.  Doisj-  gave  credit, 
for  he  reckoned  on  the  sisters  and  aunts  of  the  pupils, 
who  made  it  a  point  of  honor  to  pay  their  debts.  I 
resisted  the  blandishments  of  his  place  for  a  long  time. 
If  my  judges  knew  the  strength  of  its  seduction,  the 
heroic  efforts  I  made  after  stoicism,  the  repressed  de- 
sires of  my  long  resistance,  the}7  would  pardon  my  final 
overthrow.  But,  child  as  I  was,  could  I  have  the  gran- 
deur of  soul  that  scorns  the  scorn  of  others  ?  Moreover, 
I  may  have  felt  the  promptings  of  several  social  vices 
whose  power  was  increased  by  m}T  longings. 

About  the  end  of  the  second  year  rmT  father  and 
mother  came  to  Paris.  My  brother  had  written  me  the 
day  of  their  arrival.  He  lived  in  Paris,  but  had  never 
been  to  see  me.  My  sisters,  he  said,  were  of  the 
part}' ;  we  were  all  to  see  Paris  together.  The  first 
day  we  were  to  dine  in  the  Palais-Royal,  so  as  to  be 
near  the  Theatre-Francois.  In  spite  of  the  intoxication 
such  a  programme  of  unhoped-for  delights  excited,  my 
joy  was  damped  by  the  wind  of  a  coming  storm,  which 
those  who  are  used  to  unhappiness  apprehend  instinc- 
tively. 1  was  forced  to  own  a  debt  of  a  hundred  francs 
to  the  Sieur  Doisy,  who  threatened  to  ask  my  parents 
himself  for  the  mone}'.  I  bethought  me  of  making  my 
brother  the  emissary  of  Doisy,  the  mouth-piece  of  my 
repentance  and  the  mediator  of  pardon.  My  father 
inclined  to  forgiveness,  but  my  mother  was  pitiless ; 
her  dark  blue  eye  froze  me ;  she  fulminated  cruel 
prophecies  :  "  What  should  I  be  later  if  at  seventeen 
3'ears  of  age  I  committed  such  follies?  Was  I  really  a 
son  of  hers?     Did  I  mean  to  ruin  my  family  ?     Did  I 


The  Lily  of   the    Valley.  13 

think  myself  the  only  child  of  the  house  ?  My  brother 
Charles's  career,  already  begun,  required  large  outlay, 
amply  deserved  by  his  conduct  which  did  honor  to  the 
family,  while  mine  would  alwa}'s  disgrace  it.  Did  I 
know  nothing  of  the  value  of  money,  and  what  I  cost 
them?  Of  what  use  were  coffee  and  sugar  to  my  educa- 
tion? Such  conduct  was  the  first  step  into  all  the 
vices." 

After  enduring  the  shock  of  this  torrent  which  rasped 
my  soul,  I  was  sent  back  to  school  in  charge  of  my 
brother.  I  lost  the  dinner  at  the  Frere's  Provenc^ux, 
and  was  deprived  of  seeing  Talma  in  Britannicus. 
Such  was  m}-  first  interview  with  mj1  mother  after  a 
separation  of  twelve  years. 

When  I  had  finished  school  my  father  left  me  under 
the  guardianship  of  Monsieur  Lepitre.  I  was  to  study 
the  higher  mathematics,  follow  a  course  of  law  for  one 
3'ear,  and  begin  philosophy.  Allowed  to  study  in  my 
own  room  and  released  from  the  classes,  I  expected  a 
truce  with  trouble.  But,  in  spite  of  mj'  nineteen  years, 
perhaps  because  of  them,  my  father  persisted  in  the 
system  which  had  sent  me  to  school  without  food,  to 
an  academ}T  without  pocket-mone}r,  and  had  driven  me 
into  debt  to  Doisy.  Very  little  money  was  allowed  to 
me,  and  what  can  3-ou  do  in  Paris  without  monej*? 
Moreover,  my  freedom  was  carefully  chained  up.  Mon- 
sieur Lepitre  sent  me  to  the  law  school  accompanied  b}T 
a  man-of-all-work  who  handed  me  over  to  the  professor 
and  fetched  me  home  again.  A  }X>ung  girl  would  have 
been  treated  with  less  precaution  than  my  mother's 
fears  insisted  on  for  me.  Paris  alarmed  my  parents, 
and  justly.     Students  are  secretly  engaged  in  the  same 


14  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

occupation  which  fills  the  minds  of  young  ladies  in 
their  boarding-schools.  Do  what  you  will,  nothing  can 
prevent  the  latter  from  talking  of  lovers,  or  the  former 
of  women.  But  in  Paris,  and  especially  at  this  partic- 
ular time,  such  talk  among  young  lads  was  influenced 
by  the  oriental  and  sultanic  atmosphere  and  customs  of 
the  Palais-Royal. 

The  Palais-Royal  was  an  Eldorado  of  love  where  the 
.ingots  melted  away  in  coin ;  there  virgin  doubts  were 
over  ;  there  curiosity  was  appeased.  The  Palais-Royal 
and  I  were  two  asymtotes  bearing  one  towards  the 
other,  yet  unable  to  meet.  Fate  miscarried  all  my 
attempts.  MyT  father  had  presented  me  to  one  of  my 
aunts  who  lived  in  the  lie  St.  Louis.  With  her  I  was 
to  dine  on  Sundays  and  Thursdays,  escorted  to  the 
house  by  either  Monsieur  or  Madame  Lepitre,  who 
went  out  themselves  on  those  da}-s  and  were  to  call  for 
me  on  their  wa}T  home.  Singular  amusement  for  a 
young  lad  !  My  aunt,  the  Marquise  de  Listomere,  was 
a  great  lady,  of  ceremonious  habits,  who  would  never 
have  dreamed  of  offering  me  mone}'.  Old  as  a  cathe- 
dral, painted  like  a  miniature,  sumptuous  in  dress,  she 
lived  in  her  great  house  as  though  Louis  XV.  were  not 
dead,  and  saw  none  but  old  women  and  men  of  a  past 
da}r,  —  a  fossil  societ}T  which  made  me  think  I  was  in  a 
graveyard.  No  one  spoke  to  me  and  I  had  not  the 
courage  to  speak  first.  Cold  and  alien  looks  made  me 
ashamed  of  my  youth,  which  seemed  to  annoy  them. 
I  counted  on  this  indifference  to  aid  me  in  certain 
plans ;  I  was  resolved  to  escape  some  day  directly 
after  dinner  and  rush  to  the  Palais-Royal.  Once  seated 
at  whist  my  aunt  would  pay  no  attention  to  me.     Jean, 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  15 

the  footman,  cared  little  for  Monsieur  Lepitre  and 
would  have  aided  me  ;  but  on  the  da\'  I  chose  for  my 
adventure  that  luckless  dinner  was  longer  than  usual, 
—  either  because  the  jaws  employed  were  more  worn 
out  or  the  false  teetli  more  imperfect.  At  last,  between 
eight  and  nine  o'clock,  I  reached  the  staircase,  my 
heart  beating  like  that  of  Bianca  Capello  on  the  da}r  of 
her  flight ;  but  when  the  porter  pulled  the  cord  I  beheld 
in  the  street  before  me  Monsieur  Lepitre's  hackney- 
coach,  and  I  heard  his  pursy  voice  demanding  me ! 

Three  times  did  fate  interpose  between  the  hell  of  the 
Palais-Royal  and  the  heaven  of  my  }'Outh.  On  the  day 
when  I,  ashamed  at  twenty  years  of  age  of  my  own  ig- 
norance, determined  to  risk  all  dangers  to  put  an  end 
to  it,  at  the  very  moment  when  I  was  about  to  run  away 
from  Monsieur  Lepitre  as  he  got  into  the  coach, — a 
difficult  process,  for  he  was  as  fat  as  Louis  XVIII.  and 
club-footed,  —  well,  can  3-ou  believe  it,  my  mother 
arrived  in  a  post-chaise !  Her  glance  arrested  me  ;  I 
stood  still,  like  a  bird  before  a  snake.  What  fate  had 
brought  her  there  ?  The  simplest  thing  in  the  world. 
Napoleon  was  then  making  his  last  efforts.  My  father, 
who  foresaw  the  return  of  the  Bourbons,  had  come  to 
Paris  with  my  mother  to  advise  my  brother,  who  was 
employed  in  the  imperial  diplomatic  service.  My  mother 
was  to  take  me  back  with  her,  out  of  the  way  of  dan- 
gers which  seemed,  to  those  who  followed  the  march  of 
events  intelligently,  to  threaten  the  capital.  In  a  few 
minutes,  as  it  were,  I  was  taken  out  of  Paris,  at  the 
very  moment  when  my  life  there  was  about  to  become 
fatal  to  me. 

The  tortures  of  imagination  excited  by  repressed  de- 


16  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

sires,  the  weariness  of  a  life  depressed  by  constant 
privations  had  driven  me  to  stud}',  just  as  men,  weaiy 
of  fate,  confine  themselves  in  a  cloister.  To  me,  study 
had  become  a  passion,  which  might  even  be  fatal  to  my 
health  by  imprisoning  me  at  a  period  of  life  when  .young 
men  ought  to  yield  to  the  bewitching  activities  of  their 
springtide  youth. 

This  slight  sketch  of  my  boyhood,  in  which  3-011,  Na- 
talie, can  readily  perceive  innumerable  songs  of  woe, 
was  needful  to  explain  to  3*011  its  influence  on  1113-  future 
life.  At  twenty  3'ears  of  age,  and  affected  by  man3r 
morbid  elements,  I  was  still  small  and  thin  and  pale. 
My  soul,  filled  with  the  will  to  do,  struggled  with  a 
bod3r  that  seemed  weakly,  but  which,  in  the  words  of  an 
old  physician  at  Tours,  was  undergoing  its  final  fusion 
into  a  temperament  of  iron.  Child  in  body  and  old  in 
mind,  I  had  read  and  thought  so  much  that  I  knew  life 
metaphysically  in  its  highest  reaches  at  the  moment 
when  I  was  about  to  enter  the  tortuous  difficulties  of  its 
defiles  and  the  sand3T  roads  of  its  plains.  A  strange 
chance  had  held  me  long  in  that  delightful  period  when 
the  soul  awakes  to  its  first  tumults,  to  its  desires  for 
joy,  and  the  savor  of  life  is  fresh.  I  stood  in  the  period 
between  puberty  and  manhood,  —  the  one  prolonged  D3- 
my  excessive  study,  the  other  tardily  developing  its 
living  shoots.  No  young  man  was  ever  more  thor- 
oughly prepared  to  feel  and  to  love.  To  understand  my 
histon*,  let  3-our  mind  dwell  on  that  pure  time  of  youth 
when  the  mouth  is  innocent  of  falsehood  ;  when  the 
glance  of  the  eye  is  honest,  though  veiled  by  lids  which 
droop  from  timidity  contradicting  desire  ;  when  the  soul 
bends  not  to  worldly  Jesuitism,  and  the  heart  throbs  as 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  17 

violently  from  trepidation  as  from  the  generous  impulses 
of  young  emotion. 

I  need  say  nothing  of  the  journey  I  made  with  my 
mother  from  Paris  to  Tours.  The  coldness  of  her  be- 
havior repressed  me.  At  each  relay  I  tried  to  speak  ; 
but  a  look,  a  word  from  her  frightened  away  the 
speeches  I  had  been  meditating.  At  Orleans,  where 
we  had  passed  the  night,  my  mother  complained  of  my 
silence.  I  threw  myself  at  her  feet  and  clasped  her 
knees  ;  with  tears  I  opened  my  heart.  I  tried  to  touch 
hers  by  the  eloquence  of  my  hungry  love  in  accents 
that  might  have  moved  a  stepmother.  She  replied  that 
I  was  playing  comedy.  I  complained  that  she  had 
abandoned  me.  She  called  me  an  unnatural  child. 
My  whole  nature  was  so  wrung  that  at  Blois  I  went 
upon  the  bridge  to  drown  myself  in  the  Loire.  The 
height  of  the  parapet  prevented  my  suicide. 

When  1  reached  home,  my  two  sisters,  who  did  not 
know  me,  showed  more  surprise  than  tenderness.  Af- 
terwards, however,  they  seemed,  by  comparison,  to  be 
full  of  kindness  towards  me.  I  was  given  a  room  on 
the  third  story.  You  will  understand  the  extent  of  my 
hardships  when  I  tell  you  that  my  mother  left-  me,  a 
young  man  of  twenty,  without  other  linen  than  my  mis- 
erable school  outfit,  or  an}r  other  outside  clothes  than 
those  I  had  long  worn  in  Paris.  If  I  ran  from  one  end 
of  the  room  to  the  other  to  pick  up  her  handkerchief, 
she  took  it  with  the  cold  thanks  a  lady  gives  to  her 
footman.  Driven  to  watch  her  to  find  if  there  were  any 
soft  spot  where  I  could  fasten  the  rootlets  of  affection, 
I  came  to  see  her  as  she  was,  —  a  tall,  spare  woman, 
given  to  cards,  egotistical   and  insolent,  like  all  the 


18  The  Lily  of   the    Valley. 

Listomeres,  who  count  insolence  as  part  of  their  dowry. 
She  saw  nothing  in  life  except  duties  to  be  fulfilled. 
All  cold  women  whom  I  have  known  made,  as  she  did, 
a  religion  of  duty  ;  she  received  our  homage  as  a  priest 
receives  the  incense  of  the  mass.  My  elder  brother 
appeared  to  absorb  the  trifling  sentiment  of  maternit}' 
which  was  in  her  nature.  She  stabbed  us  constantly 
with  her  sharp  irony,  —  the  weapon  of  those  who  have 
no  heart,  —  and  which  she  used  against  us,  who  could 
make  her  no  reply. 

Notwithstanding  these  thorny  hindrances,  the  instinc- 
tive sentiments  have  so  man}*  roots,  the  religious  fear 
inspired  b}'  a  mother  whom  it  is  dangerous  to  displease 
holds  by  so  man}'  threads,  that  the  sublime  mistake  — 
if  I  may  so  call  it — of  our  love  for  our  mother  lasted 
until  the  day,  much  later  in  our  lives,  when  we  judged 
her  finally.  This  terrible  despotism  drove  from  my 
mind  all  thoughts  of  the  voluptuous  enjoyments  I  had 
dreamed  of  finding  at  Tours.  In  despair  I  took  refuge 
in  my  father's  library,  where  I  set  myself  to  read  every 
book  I  did  not  know.  These  long  periods  of  hard 
study  saved  me  from  contact  with  my  mother ;  but  they 
aggravated  the  dangers  of  my  moral  condition.  Some- 
times my  eldest  sister  —  she  who  afterwards  married 
our  cousin,  the  Marquis  de  Listomere —  tried  to  com- 
fort me,  without,  however,  being  able  to  calm  the  irrita- 
tion to  which  I  was  a  victim.     I  desired  to  die. 

Great  events,  of  which  I  knew  nothing,  were  then  in 
preparation.  The  Due  d'Angouleme,  who  had  left  Bor- 
deaux to  join  Louis  XVIII.  in  Paris,  was  received  in 
evenr  town  through  which  he  passed  with  ovations  in- 
spired by  the  enthusiasm  felt  throughout  old  France  at 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  19 

the  return  of  the  Bourbons.  Touraine  was  aroused  for 
its  legitimate  princes ;  the  town  itself  was  in  a  flutter, 
every  window  decorated,  the  inhabitants  in  their  Sun- 
day clothes,  a  festival  in  preparation,  and  that  nameless 
excitement  in  the  air  which  intoxicates,  and  which  gave 
me  a  strong  desire  to  be  present  at  the  ball  given  to  the 
duke.  When  I  summoned  courage  to  make  this  re- 
quest of  m}'  mother,  who  was  too  ill  to  go  herself,  she 
became  extremely  angry.  "  Had  I  come  from  Congo?" 
she  inquired.  "  How  could  I  suppose  that  our  family 
would  not  be  represented  at  the  ball  ?  In  the  absence 
of  my  father  and  brother,  of  course  it  was  my  duty  to 
be  present.  Had  I  no  mother?  Was  she  not  always 
thinking  of  the  welfare  of  her  children?" 

In  a  moment  the  semi-disinherited  son  had  become  a 
personage !  I  was  more  dumfounded  by  my  impor- 
tance than  b}-  the  deluge  of  ironical  reasoning  with 
which  my  mother  received  my  request.  I  questioned 
my  sisters,  and  then  discovered  that  my  mother,  who 
liked  such  theatrical  plots,  was  already  attending  to  my 
clothes.  The  tailors  in  Tours  were  fully  occupied  by 
the  sudden  demands  of  their  regular  customers,  and  nry 
mother  was  forced  to  employ  her  usual  seamstress,  who 
—  according  to  provincial  custom  —  could  do  all  kinds 
of  sewing.  A  bottle-blue  coat  had  been  secretly  made 
for  me,  after  a  fashion,  and  silk  stockings  and  pumps 
provided ;  waistcoats  were  then  worn  short,  so  that  I 
could  wear  one  of  my  father's  ;  and  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  had  a  shirt  with  a  frill,  the  pleatings  of  which 
puffed  out  my  chest  and  were  gathered  in  to  the  knot 
of  my  cravat.  When  dressed  in  this  apparel  I  looked 
so  little  like  myself  that  my  sister's  compliments  nerved 


20  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

me  to  face  all  Touraine  at  the  ball.  But  it  was  a  bold 
enterprise.  Thanks  to  my  slimness  I  slipped  into  a 
tent  set  up  in  the  gardens  of  the  Papion  house,  and 
found  a  place  close  to  the  armchair  in  which  the  duke 
was  seated.  Instantly  I  was  suffocated  hy  the  heat,  and 
dazzled  bj-  the  lights,  the  scarlet  draperies,  the  gilded 
ornaments,  the  dresses,  and  the  diamonds  of  the  first 
public  ball  I  had  ever  witnessed.  I  was  pushed  hither 
and  thither  by  a  mass  of  men  and  women,  who  hustled 
each  other  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  brazen  clash  of 
military  music  was  drowned  in  the  hurrahs  and  accla- 
mations of  "  Long  live  the  Due  d'Angouleme  !  Long 
live  the  King  !  Long  live  the  Bourbons  !  "  The  ball 
was  an  outburst  of  pent-up  enthusiasm,  where  each 
man  endeavored  to  outdo  the  rest  in  his  fierce  haste  to 
worship  the  rising  sun,  —  an  exhibition  of  partisan  greed 
which  left  me  unmoved,  or  rather,  it  disgusted  me  and 
drove  me  back  within  nvyself. 

Swept  onward  like  a  straw  in  the  whirlwind,  I  was 
seized  with  a  childish  desire  to  be  the  Due  d'Angou- 
leme himself,  to  be  one  of  these  princes  parading  before 
an  awed  assemblage.  This  silly  fancy  of  a  Tourangean 
lad  roused  an  ambition  to  which  m}r  nature  and  the  sur- 
rounding circumstances  lent  dignity.  Who  would  not 
env}T  such  worship?  —  a  magnificent  repetition  of  which 
I  saw  a  few  months  later,  when  all  Paris  rushed  to  the 
feet  of  the  Emperor  on  his  return  from  Elba.  The 
sense  of  this  dominion  exercised  over  the  masses, 
whose  feelings  and  whose  very  life  are  thus  merged 
into  one  soul,  dedicated  me  then  and  thenceforth  to 
glory,  that  priestess  who  slaughters  the  Frenchmen  of 
to-day  as  the  Druidess  once  sacrificed  the  Gauls. 


The   Lily  of  the    Valley.  21 

Suddenly  I  met  the  woman  who  was  destined  to  spur 
these  ambitious  desires  and  to  crown  them  by  sending 
me  into  the  heart  of  royalty.  Too  timid  to  ask  any  one 
to  dance,  —  fearing,  moreover,  to  confuse  the  figures,  — 
I  naturally  became  very  awkward,  and  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  my  arms  and  legs.  Just  as  1  was  suffer- 
ing severely  from  the  pressure  of  the  crowd  an  officer 
stepped  on  my  feet,  swollen  by  the  new  leather  of 
m}'  shoes  as  well  as  b}'  the  heat.  This  disgusted  me 
with  the  whole  affair.  It  was  impossible  to  get  awa}* ; 
but  I  took  refuge  in  a  corner  of  a  room  at  the  end  of 
an  empty  bench,  where  I  sat  with  fixed  eyes,  motionless 
and  sullen.  Misled  by  my  puny  appearance,  a  woman 
—  taking  me  for  a  sleepy  child  —  slid  softly  into  the 
place  beside  me,  with  the  motion  of  a  bird  as  she 
drops  upon  her  nest.  Instantly  I  breathed  the  woman- 
atmosphere,  which  irradiated  my  soul  as,  in  after  days, 
oriental  poesy  has  shone  there.  I  looked  at  my  neigh- 
bor, and  was  more  dazzled  by  that  vision  than  I  had 
been  by  the  scene  of  the  fete. 

If  3'ou  have  understood  this  hiskny  of  my  early  life  you 
will  guess  the  feelings  which  now  welled  up  within  me. 
My  eyes  rested  suddenly  on  white,  rounded  shoulders 
where  I  would  fain  have  laid  m}7  head,  — ^shoulders 
faintly  ros}*,  which  seemed  to  blush  as  if  uncovered  for 
the  first  time  ;  modest  shoulders,  that  possessed  a  soul, 
and  reflected  light  from  their  satin  surface  as  from  a 
silken  texture.  These  shoulders  were  parted  by  a  line 
along  which  my  eyes  wandered.  I  raised  myself  to  see 
the  bust  and  was  spell-bound  b}-  the  beauty  of  the  bosom, 
chastely  covered  with  gauze,  where  blue-veined  globes 
of  perfect  outline  were  softly  hidden  in  waves  of  lace. 


22  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

The  slightest  details  of  the  head  were  each  and  all 
enchantments  which  awakened  infinite  delights  within 
me  ;  the  brilliancy  of  the  hair  laid  smoothly  above  a 
neck  as  soft  and  velvety  as  a  child's,  the  white  lines 
drawn  by  the  comb  where  my  imagination  ran  as  along 
a  dewy  path,  —  all  these  things  put  me,  as  it  were, 
beside  myself.  Glancing  round  to  be  sure  that  no 
one  saw  me,  I  threw  myself  upon  those  shoulders  as  a 
child  upon  the  breast  of  its  mother,  kissing  them  as 
I  laid  my  head  there.  The  woman  uttered  a  piercing 
cry,  which  the  noise  of  the  music  drowned  ;  she  turned, 
saw  me,  and  exclaimed,  "Monsieur!"  Ah!  had  she 
said,  "  My  little  lad,  what  possesses  you?"  I  might 
have  killed  her;  but  at  the  word  "Monsieur!"  hot 
tears  fell  from  my  eyes.  I  was  petrified  by  a  glance  of 
saintly  anger,  by  a  noble  face  crowned  with  a  diadem 
of  golden  hair  in  harmony  with  the  shoulders  I  adored. 
The  crimson  of  offended  modesty  glowed  on  her  cheeks, 
though  ahead}'  it  was  appeased  by  the  pardoning  in- 
stinct of  a  woman  who  comprehends  a  frenzy  which  she 
inspires,  and  divines  the  infinite  adoration  of  those 
repentant  tears.  She  moved  awaj'  with  the  step  and 
carriage  of  a  queen. 

I  then  felt  the  ridicule  of  my  position  ;  for  the  first 
time  I  realized  that  I  was  dressed  like  the  monkey  of 
a  barrel  organ.  I  was  ashamed.  There  I  stood,  stupe- 
fied,—  tasting  the  fruit  that  I  had  stolen,  conscious  of 
the  warmth  upon  my  lips,  repenting  not,  and  following 
with  my  C3'es  the  woman  who  had  come  down  to  me  from 
heaven.  Sick  with  the  first  fever  of  the  heart  I  wan- 
dered through  the  rooms,  unable  to  find  mine  Unknown, 
until  at  last  I  went  home  to  bed,  another  man. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  23 

A  new  soul,  a  soul  with  rainbow  wings,  had  burst  its 
chrysalis.  Descending  from  the  azure  wastes  where  I 
had  long  admired  her,  my  star  had  come  to  me  a  woman, 
with  undiminished  lustre  and  purity.  I  loved,  knowing 
nought  of  love.  How  strange  a  thing,  this  first  irruption 
of  the  keenest  human  emotion  in  the  heart  of  a  man ! 
I  had  seen  prett}'  women  in  other  places,  but  none  had 
made  the  slightest  impression  upon  me.  Can  there  be 
an  appointed  hour,  a  conjunction  of  stars,  a  union  of 
circumstances,  a  certain  woman  among  all  others  to 
awaken  an  exclusive  passion  at  the  period  of  life  when 
love  includes  the  whole  sex  ? 

The  thought  that  ni}'  Elect  lived  in  Touraine  made 
the  air  I  breathed  delicious  ;  the  blue  of  the  skjT  seemed 
bluer  than  I  had  ever  yet  seen  it.  I  raved  internally,  but 
externally  I  was  seriously  ill,  and  my  mother  had  fears, 
not  unmingled  with  remorse.  Like  animals  who  know 
when  danger  is  near,  I  hid  myself  awa}'  in  the  garden 
to  think  of  the  kiss  that  I  had  stolen.  A  few  days  after 
this  memorable  ball  my  mother  attributed  my  neglect 
of  sttKty,  my  indifference  to  her  tyrannical  looks  and 
sarcasms,  and  my  gloomy  behavior  to  the  condition  of 
my  health.  The  countiy,  that  perpetual  remedy  for  ills 
that  doctors  cannot  cure,  seemed  to  her  the  best  means 
of  bringing  me  out  of  my  apathy.  She  decided  that  I 
should  spend  a  few  weeks  at  Frapesle,  a  chateau  on  the 
Indre  midway  between  Montbazon  and  Azay-le-Rideau, 
which  belonged  to  a  friend  of  hers,  to  whom,  no  doubt, 
she  gave  private  instructions. 

By  the  day  when  I  thus  for  the  first  time  gained  my 
liberty  I  had  swum  so  vigorously  in  Love's  ocean  that  I 
had  well-nigh  crossed  it.     I  knew  nothing  of  mine  un- 


24  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

known  lacty,  neither  her  name,  nor  where  to  find  her ; 
to  whom,  indeed,  could  I  speak  of  her?  My  sensitive 
nature  so  exaggerated  the  inexplicable  fears  which 
beset  all  youthful  hearts  at  the  first  approach  of  love 
that  I  began  with  the  melancholy  which  often  ends  a 
hopeless  passion.  I  asked  nothing  better  than  to  roam 
about  the  country,  to  come  and  go  and  live  in  the  fields. 
With  the  courage  of  a  child  that  fears  no  failure,  in 
which  there  is  something  really  chivalrous,  I  determined 
to  search  every  chateau  in  Touraine,  travelling  on  foot, 
and  saying  to  myself  as  each  old  tower  came  in  sight, 
"She  is  there!" 

Accordingly,  of  a  Thursda}T  morning  I  left  Tours  by 
the  barrier  of  Saint-Elo}*,  crossed  the  bridges  of  Saint- 
Sauveur,  reached  Poncher  whose  every  house  I  exam- 
ined, and  took  the  road  to  Chinon.  For  the  first  time 
in  my  life  I  could  sit  down  under  a  tree  or  walk  fast  or 
slow  as  I  pleased  without  being  dictated  to  by  any  one. 
To  a  poor  lad  crushed  under  all  sorts  of  despotism 
(which  more  or  less  does  weigh  upon  all  youth)  the  first 
employment  of  freedom,  even  though  it  be  expended 
upon  nothing,  lifts  the  soul  with  irrepressible  buoyancy. 
Several  reasons  combined  to  make  that  day  one  of  en- 
chantment. During  my  school  years  I  had  never  been 
taken  to  walk  more  than  two  or  three  miles  from  a  city  ; 
yet  there  remained  in  mj'  mind  among  the  earliest 
recollections  of  my  childhood  that  feeling  for  the  beau- 
tiful which  the  scenery  about  Tours  inspires.  Though 
quite  untaught  as  to  the  poetry  of  such  a  landscape,  I 
was,  unknown  to  myself,  critical  upon  it,  like  those 
who  imagine  the  ideal  of  art  without  knowing  anything 
of  its  practice. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  25 

To  reach  the  chateau  of  Frapesle,  foot-passengers,  or 
those  on  horseback,  shorten  the  way  by  crossing  the 
Charlemagne  moors,  —  uncultivated  tracts  of  land  lying 
on  the  summit  of  the  plateau  which  separates  the  val- 
ley of  the  Cher  from  that  of  the  Indre,  and  over 
which  there  is  a  cross-road  leading  to  Chain py.  These 
moors  are  flat  and  sand}',  and  for  more  than  three  miles 
are  drear}7  enough  until  }*ou  reach,  through  a  clump  of 
woods,  the  road  to  Sache,  the  name  of  the  township 
in  which  Frapesle  stands.  This  road,  which  joins  that 
of  Chinon  beyond  Ballan,  skirts  an  undulating  plain 
to  the  little  hamlet  of  Artanne.  Here  we  come  upon 
a  valley,  which  begins  at  Montbazon,  ends  at  the  Loire, 
and  seems  to  rise  and  fall,  —  to  bound,  as  it  were,  — 
beneath  the  chateaus  placed  on  its  double  hillsides,  —  a 
splendid  emerald  cup,  in  the  depths  of  which  flow  the 
serpentine  lines  of  the  river  Indre.  I  gazed  at  this 
scene  with  ineffable  delight,  for  which  the  gloomy  moor- 
land and  the  fatigue  of  the  sandy  walk  had  prepared 
me. 

4 'If  that  woman,  the  flower  of  her  sex,  does  indeed 
inhabit  this  earth,  she  is  here,  on  this  spot." 

Thus  musing,  I  leaned  against  a  walnut-tree,  beneath 
which  I  have  rested  from  that  da}'  to  this  whenever  I 
return  to  m}T  dear  valley.  Beneath  that  tree,  the  con- 
fidant of  my  thoughts,  I  ask  myself  what  changes  there 
are  in  me  since  last  I  stood  there. 

My  heart  deceived  me  not  —  she  lived  there  ;  the  first 
castle  that  I  saw  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  was  the  dwelling 
that  held  her.  As  I  sat  beneath  my  nut-tree,  the  mid- 
da}'  sun  was  sparkling  on  the  slates  of  her  roof  tnd  the 
panes  of  her  windows.     Her  cambric  dress  made  the 


26  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

white  line  which  I  saw  among  the  vines  of  an  arbor. 
She  was,  as  you  know  already  without  as  }et  know- 
ing anything,  the  Lily  of  this  valley,  where  she  grew 
for  heaven,  filling  it  with  the  fragrance  of  her  virtues. 
Love,  infinite  love,  without  other  sustenance  than  the 
vision,  dimly  seen,  of  which  nry  soul  was  full,  was 
there,  expressed  to  me  by  that  long  ribbon  of  water 
flowing  in  the  sunshine  between  the  grass-green  banks, 
by  the  lines  of  the  poplars  adorning  with  their  mobile 
laces  that  vale  of  love,  by  the  oak-woods  coming  down 
between  the  vineyards  to  the  shore,  which  the  river 
curved  and  rounded  as  it  chose,  and  by  those  dim 
varying  horizons  as  the}'  fled  confusedl}T  awa}\ 

If  you  would  see  nature  beautiful  and  virgin  as  a 
bride,  go  there  of  a  spring  morning.  If  you  would 
still  the  bleeding  wounds  of  your  heart,  return  in  the 
last  days  of  autumn.  In  the  spring,  Love  beats  his 
wings  beneath  the  broad  blue  sky ;  in  the  autumn,  we 
think  of  those  who  are  no  more.  The  lungs  diseased 
breathe  in  a  blessed  purity ;  the  eyes  will  rest  on 
golden  copses  which  impart  to  the  soul  their  peaceful 
stillness.  At  this  moment,  when  I  stood  there  for  the 
first  time,  the  mills  upon  the  brooksides  gave  a  voice 
to  the  quivering  valley ;  the  poplars  were  laughing  as 
they  swa}Ted  ;  not  a  cloud  was  in  the  sky  ;  the  birds 
sang,  the  crickets  chirped, — all  was  melody.  Do  not 
ask  me  again  why  1  love  Touraine.  I  love  it,  not  as 
we  love  our  cradle,  not  as  we  love  the  oasis  in  a  desert ; 
I  love  it  as  an  artist  loves  art ;  I  love  it  less  than  I  love 
you  ;  but  without  Touraine,  perhaps  I  might  not  now 
•be  living. 

Without  knowing  why,  m}T  eyes  reverted  ever  to  that 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  27 

white  spot,  to  the  woman  who  shone  in  that  garden  as 
the  bell  of  a  ^ojivolyuhis  shines  amid  the  underbrush,      X 
and  wilts  if  touched.     Moved  to  the  soul,  I  descended! 
the  slopes   and   soon   saw  a  village,  which  the   super- 
abounding  poetry  that  filled  my  heart  made  me  fancy 
without  an  equal.     Imagine  three  mills  placed  among     7 
islands  of  graceful  outline  crowned  with  groves  of  trees     ' 
and  rising  from  a  field  of  water,  —  for  what  other  name 

can  I  give  to  that  aquatic  vegetation,  so_vftrdfl.nt.J--8Q 

finely  colored,  which  carpeted  the  river,  rose  above  its 
surface  and  undulated  upon  it,  yielding  to  its  caprices 
and  swaying  to  the  turmoil  of  the  water  when  the  mill- 
wheels  lashed  it.  Here  and  there  were  mounds  of 
gravel,  against  which  the  wavelets  broke  in  fringes  that 
shimmered  in  the  sunlight.  Amaryllis,  water-lilies,  . 
reeds,  and  phloxes  decorated  the  banks  with  their 
glorious  tapestry.  A  trembling  bridge  of  rotten  planks, 
the  abutments  swathed  with  flowers,  and  the  hand-rails 
green  with  perennials  and  velvet  mosses  drooping  to 
the  river  but  not  falling  to  it ;  mouldering  boats,  fish-  / 
ing-nets ;  the  monotonous  sing-song  of  a  shepherd ; 
ducks  paddling  among  the  islands  or  preening  on  the 
ujard," —  a  name  given  to  the  coarse  sand  which  the 
Loire  brings  down;  the  millers,  with  their  caps  over 
one  ear,  busily  loading  their  mules,  —  all  these  details 
made  the  scene  before  me  one  of  primitive  simplicity. 
Imagine,  also,  beyond  the  bridge  two  or  three  farm- 
houses, a  dove-cote,  turtle-doves,  thirty  or  more  dilapi- 
dated cottages,  separated  by  gardens,  by  hedges  of 
honeysuckle,  clematis,  and  jasmine  ;  a  dunghill  beside 
each  door,  and  cocks  and  hens  about  the  road.  Such 
is  the  village  of  Pont-de-Ruan,  a  picturesque  little  ham- 


28  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

let  leading  up  to  an  old  church  full  of  character,  a 
church  of  the  days  of  the  Crusades,  such  a  one  as  paint- 
ers desire  for  their  pictures.  Surround  this  scene  with 
ancient  walnut-trees  and  slim  young  poplars  with 
their  pale-gold  leaves ;  dot  graceful  buildings  here 
and  there  along  the  grassy  slopes  where  sight  is 
lost  beneath  the  vaporous,  warm  sky,  and  you  will 
have  some  idea  of  one  of  the  points  of  view  of  this 
most  lovely  region. i/ 

I  followed  the  road  to  Sache  along  the  left  bank  of 
the  river,  noticing  carefully  the  details  of  the  hills  on 
the  opposite  shore.  At  length  I  reached  a  park  embel- 
lished with  centennial  trees,  which  I  knew  to  be  that  of 
Frapesle.  I  arrived  just  as  the  bell  was  ringing  for 
breakfast.  After  the  meal,  my  host,  who  little  sus- 
pected that  I  had  walked  from  Tours,  carried  me  over 
his  estate,  from  the  borders  of  which  I  saw  the  valley  on 
all  sides  under  its  man}'  aspects,  —  here  through  a  vista, 
there  to  its  broad  extent ;  often  my  eyes  were  drawn  to 
the  horizon  along  the  golden  blade  of  the  Loire,  where 
the  sails  made  fantastic  figures  among  the  currents  as 
they  flew  before  the  wind.  As  we  mounted  a  crest  I  came 
in  sight  of  the  chateau  d'Azay,  like  a  diamond  of  many 
facets *in  a  setting  of  the  Indre,  standing  on  wooden  piles 
concealed  by  flowers.  Farther  on,  in  a  hollow,  I  saw 
the  romantic  masses  of  the  chateau  of  Sache,  a  sad 
retreat  though  full  of  harmony ;  too  sad  for  the  su- 
perficial, but  dear  to  a  poet  with  a  soul  in  pain.  I, 
too,  came  to  love  its  silence,  its  great  gnarled  trees, 
and  the  nameless  n^sterious  influence  of  its  solitary 
valle}7.  But  now,  each  time  that  we  reached  an  open- 
ing towards  the  neighboring  slope  which  gave  to  view 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  29 

the  pretty  castle  I  had  first  noticed  in  the  morning,  I 
stopped  to  look  at  it  with  pleasure. 

"  Hey  !  "  said  1113-  host,  reading  in  m}r  eyes  the  spark- 
ling desires  which  3'outh  so  ingenuously  betrays,  "  so 
you  scent  from  afar  a  pretty  woman  as  a  dog  scents 
game !  " 

I  did  not  like  the  speech,  but  I  asked  the  name  of 
the  castle  and  of  its  owner. 

"It  is  Clochegourde,"  he  replied  ;  "  a  pretty  house 
belonging  to  the  Comte  de  Mortsauf,  the  head  of  an 
historic  family  in  Touraine,  whose  fortune  dates  from 
the  da}'s  of  Louis  XL,  and  whose  name  tells  the  story 
to  which  they  owe  their  arms  and  their  distinction. 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  is  descended  from  a  man  who 
survived  the  gallows.  The  family  bear :  Or,  a  cross 
potent  and  counter- potent  sable,  charged  with  a  fleur- 
de-lis  or ;  and  Dieu  saulve  le  Hoi  notre  Sire,  for 
motto.  The  count  settled  here  after  the  return  of  the 
emigration.  The  estate  belongs  to  his  wife,  a  demoi- 
selle de  Lenoncourt,  of  the  house  of  Lenoncourt-Givry 
which  is  now  dying  out.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is  an 
only  daughter.  The  limited  fortune  of  the  family  con- 
trasts strangely  with  the  distinction  of  their  names ; 
either  from  pride,  or,  possibly,  from  necessity,  the}' 
never  leave  Clochegourde  and  see  no  compan}'.  Until 
now  their  attachment  to  the  Bourbons  explained  this 
retirement,  but  the  return  of  the  king  has  not  changed 
their  way  of  living.  When  I  came  to  reside  here  last 
year  I  paid  them  a  visit  of  courtesy  ;  they  returned  it 
and  invited  us  to  dinner ;  the  winter  separated  us  for 
some  months,  and  political  events  kept  me  awa}'  from 
Frapesle  until   recently.     Madame   de   Mortsauf  is  a 


30  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

woman  who  would  hold  the  highest  position  wherever 
she  might  be. 

"  Does  she  often  come  to  Tours?" 

"  She  never  goes  there.  However,"  he  added,  "  cor- 
recting himself,  "  she  did  go  there  lately  to  the  ball 
given  to  the  Due  d'Angouleme,  who  was  very  gracious 
to  her  husband." 

"  It  was  she  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"She!  who?" 

"A  woman  with  beautiful  shoulders." 

"You  will  meet  a  great  many  women  with  beautiful 
shoulders  in  Touraine,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  But  if 
you  are  not  tired  we  can  cross  the  river  and  call  at 
Clochegourde  and  yon  shall  renew  acquaintance  with 
those  particular  shoulders." 

I  agreed,  not  without  a  blush  of  shame  and  pleasure. 
About  four  o'clock  we  reached  the  little  chateau  on 
which  my  eyes  had  fastened  from  the  first.  The  build- 
ing, which  is  finely  effective  in  the  landscape,  is  in 
reality  very  modest.  It  has  five  windows  on  the  front ; 
those  at  each  end  of  the  facade,  looking  south,  project 
about  twelve  feet,  —  an  architectural  device  which  gives 
the  idea  of  two  towers  and  adds  grace  to  the  structure. 
The  middle  window  serves  as  a  door  from  which  you 
descend  through  a  double  portico  into  a  terraced  garden 
which  joins  the  narrow  strip  of  grass-land  that  skirts 
the  Indre  along  its  whole  course.  Though  this  meadow 
is  separated  from  the  lower  terrace,  which  is  shaded  by 
a  double  line  of  acacias  and  Japanese  ailanthus,  03-  the 
count}'  road,  it  nevertheless  appears  from  the  house  to 
be  a  part  of  the  garden,  for  the  road  is  sunken  and 
hemmed  in  on  one  side  by  the  terrace,  on  the  other  side 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  31 

hy  a  Norman  hedge.  The  terraces  being  very  well 
managed  put  enough  distance  between  the  house  and 
the  river  to  avoid  the  inconveniences  of  too  great  prox- 
imity  to  water,  without  losing  the  charms  of  it.  Below 
the  house  are  the  stables,  coach-house,  green-houses, 
and  kitchen,  the  various  openings  to  which  form  an 
arcade.  The  roof  is  charmingly  rounded  at  the  angles, 
and  bears  mansarde  windows  with  carved  mullions  and 
leaden  finials  on  their  gables.  This  roof,  no  doubt  much 
neglected  during  the  Revolution,  is  stained  by  a  sort  of 
mildew  produced  by  lichens  and  the  reddish  moss  which 
grows  on  houses  exposed  to  the  sun.  The  glass  door 
of  the  portico  is  surmounted  b}r  a  little  tower  which 
holds  the  bell,  and  on  which  is  carved  the  escutcheon 
of  the  Blamont-Chanvry  family,  to  which  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  belonged,  as  follows:  Gules,  a  pale  vair, 
flanked  quarterly  by  two  hands  clasped  or,  and  two 
lances  in  chevron  sable.  The  motto,  Voyez  tous,  nul 
ne  touche!  struck  me  greatly.  The  supporters,  a 
griffin  and  a  dragon  gules,  enchained  or,  made  a  prett}' 
effect  in  the  carving.  The  Revolution  had  damaged  the 
ducal  crown  and  the  crest,  which  was  a  palm-tree  vert 
with  fruit  or.  Senart,  the  secretary  of  the  committee  of 
public  safet}r  was  bailiff  of  S ache  before  1781,  which 
explains  this  destruction. 

These  arrangements  give  an  elegant  air  to  the  little 
castle,  dainty  as  a  flower,  which  seems  to  scarcely 
rest  upon  the  earth,  Seen  from  the  valley  the  ground- 
floor  appears  to  be  the  first  stoiy ;  but  on  the  other 
side  it  is  on  a  level  with  a  broad  gravelled  path  leading 
to  a  grass-plot,  on  which  are  several  flower-beds.  To 
right   and   left   are   vineyards,    orchards,    and    a    few 


32  Tlie  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

acres  of  tilled  land  planted  with  chestnut-trees  which 
surround  the  house,  the  ground  falling  rapidly  to 
the  Indre,  where  other  groups  of  trees  of  variegated 
shades  of  green,  chosen  by  Nature  herself,  are  spread 
along  the  shore.  I  admired  these  groups,  so  charm- 
ingly disposed,  as  we  mounted  the  hilly  road  which 
borders  Clochegourde  ;  I  breathed  an  atmosphere  of  hap- 
piness. Has  the  moral  nature,  like  the  physical  nature, 
its  own  electrical  communications  and  its  rapid  changes 
of  temperature?  My  heart  was  beating  at  the  approach 
of  events  then  unrevealed  which  were  to  change  it  for- 
ever, just  as  animals  grow  livelier  when  foreseeing  fine 
weather. 

This  da}*,  so  marked  in  my  life,  lacked  no  circum- 
stance that  was  needed  to  solemnize  it.  Nature  was 
adorned  like  a  woman  to  meet  her  lover.  My  soul 
heard  her  voice  for  the  first  time  ;  my  eyes  worshipped 
her.  as  fruitful,  as  varied  as  my  imagination  had  pict- 
ured her  in  those  school-dreams  the  influence  of  which 
I  have  tried  in  a  few  unskilful  words  to  explain  to  you. 
for  they  were  to  me  an  Apocalypse  in  which  1113*  life 
was  figuratively  foretold  ;  each  event,  fortunate  or  un- 
fortunate, being  mated  to  some  one  of  these  strange 
visions  03*  ties  known  only  to  the  soul. 

We  crossed  a  court-yard  surrounded  by  buildings 
necessary  for  the  farm  work,  —  a  barn,  a  wine-press, 
cow-sheds,  and  stables.  Warned  by  the  barking  of  the 
watch-dog,  a  servant  came  to  meet  us.  saying  that  Mon- 
sieur le  comte  had  gone  to  Azay  in  the  morning  but 
would  soon  return,  and  that  Madame  la  comtesse  was 
at  home.  My  companion  looked  at  me.  I  fairly  trem- 
bled lest  he  should  decline  to  see  Madame  de  Mortsauf 


TJie  Lily  of  the    Valley.  33 

in  her  husband's  absence ;  but  he  told  the  man  to  an- 
nounce us.  With  the  eagerness  of  a  child  I  rushed 
into  the  long  antechamber  which  crosses  the  whole 
house. 

14  Come  in,  gentlemen,"  said  a  golden  voice. 

Though  Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  spoken  only  one 
word  at  the  ball,  I  recognized  her  voice,  which  entered 
my  soul  and  filled  it  as  a  ray  of  sunshine  fills  and  gilds 
a  prisoner's  dungeon.  Thinking,  suddenly,  that  she 
might  remember  my  face,  m}*  first  impulse  was  to  fly ; 
but  it  was  too  late,  —  she  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and 
our  eyes  met.  I  know  not  which  of  us  blushed  deep- 
est. Too  much  confused  for  immediate  speech  she 
returned  to  her  seat  at  an  embroidery  frame  while  the 
servant  placed  two  chairs,  then  she  drew  out  her  needle 
and  counted  some  stitches,  as  if  to  explain  her  silence ; 
after  which  she  raised  her  head,  gently  }'et  proudlj',  in  the 
direction  of  Monsieur  de  Chessel  as  she  asked  to  what 
fortunate  circumstance  she  owed  his  visit.  Though 
curious  to  know  the  secret  of  my  unexpected  appear- 
ance, she  looked  at  neither  of  us,  —  her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  river ;  and  yet  you  could  have  told  by  the  way 
she  listened  that  she  was  able  to  recognize,  as  the  blind 
do,  the  agitations  of  a  neighboring  soul  by  the  imper- 
ceptible inflexions  of  the  voice. 

Monsieur  de  Chessel  gave  nry  name  and  biography. 
I  had  lately  arrived  at  Tours,  where  my  parents  had 
recalled  me  when  the  armies  threatened  Paris.  A  son 
of  Touraine  to  whom  Touraine  was  as  3-et  unknown, 
she  would  find  me  a  young  man  weakened  by  exces- 
sive study  and  sent  to  Frapesle  to  amuse  himself;  he 
had  already  shown  me  his  estate,  which  I  saw  for  the 

3 


34  The   Lily  of   the    Valley. 

first  time.  I  had  just  told  him  that  I  had  walked  from 
Tours  to  Frapesle,  and  fearing  for  my  health  —  which 
was  really  delicate  —  he  had  stopped  at  Cloehegourde 
to  ask  her  to  allow  me  to  rest  there.  Monsieur  de 
Chessel  told  the  truth  ;  but  the  accident  seemed  so 
forced  that  Madame  de  Mortsauf  distrusted  us.  She 
gave  me  a  cold,  severe  glance,  under  which  my  own 
eyelids  fell,  as  much  from  a  sense  of  humiliation  as 
to  hide  the  tears  that  rose  beneath  them.  She  saw  the 
moisture  on  my  forehead,  and  perhaps  she  guessed  the 
tears  ;  for  she  offered  me  the  restoratives  I  needed,  with 
a  few  kind  and  consoling  words,  which  gave  me  back  the 
power  of  speech.  I  blushed  like  a  young  girl,  and  in 
a  voice  as  tremulous  as  that  of  an  old  man  I  thanked 
her  and  declined. 

"All  I  ask,"  I  said,  raising  my  eyes  to  hers,  which 
mine  now  met  for  the  second  time  in  a  glance  as  rapid 
as  lightning,  —  "  is  to  rest  here.  I  am  so  crippled  with 
fatigue  I  really  cannot  walk  farther." 

"  You  must  not  doubt  the  hospitality  of  our  beauti- 
ful Touraine,"  she  said  ;  then,  turning  to  my  compan- 
ion, she  added:  "You  will  give  us  the  pleasure  of 
your  dining  at  Cloehegourde?" 

I  threw  such  a  look  of  entreaty  at  Monsieur  de  Ches- 
sel that  he  began  the  preliminaries  of  accepting  the 
invitation,  though  it  was  given  in  a  manner  that  seemed 
to  expect  a  refusal.  As  a  man  of  the  world,  he  recog- 
nized these  shades  of  meaning ;  but  I,  a  young  man 
without  experience,  believed  so  implicitly  in  the  sincer- 
it}'  between  word  and  thought  of  this  beautiful  woman 
that  I  was  wholly  astonished  when  my  host  said  to  me, 
after  we  reached  home  that  evening,  ' '  I  stayed  because 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  85 

I  saw  you  were  dying  to  do  so  ;  but  if  you  do  not  suc- 
ceed in  making  it  all  right,  I  ma}T  find  m3'self  on  bad 
terms  with  my  neighbors."  That  expression,  "if  you 
do  not  make  it  all  right,"  made  me  ponder  the  matteir 
deeply.  In  other  words,  if  1  pleased  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf,  she  would  not  be  displeased  with  the  man  who 
introduced  me  to  her.  He  evidently  thought  I  had  the 
power  to  please  her  ;  this  in  itself  gave  me  that  power, 
and  corroborated  my  inward  hope  at  a  moment  when  it 
needed  some  outward  succor. 

"lam  afraid  it  will  be  difficult,"  he  began  ;  u  Madame 
de  Chessel  expects  us." 

"  She  has  you  every  day,"  replied  the  countess  ;  "  be- 
sides, we  can  send  her  word.     Is  she  alone?  " 

"  No,  the  Abbe  de  Quelus  is  there." 

"  Well,  then,"  she  said,  rising  to  ring  the  bell,  "  you 
really  must  dine  with  us." 

This  time  Monsieur  de  Chessel  thought  her  in  earnest, 
and  gave  me  a  congratulatory  look.  As  soon  as  I  was 
sure  of  passing  a  whole  evening  under  that  roof  I 
seemed  to  have  eternity  before  me.  For  many  miser- 
able beings  to-morrow  is  a  word  without  meaning, 
and  I  was  of  the  number  who  had  no  faith  in  it ;  when 
I  was  certain  of  a  few  hours  of  happiness  I  made  them 
contain  a  whole  lifetime  of  delight. 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  talked  about  local  affairs,  the 
harvest,  the  vintage,  and  other  matters  to  which  I  was 
a  total  stranger.  This  usually  argues  either  a  want 
of  breeding  or  great  contempt  for  the  stranger  present 
who  is  thus  shut  out  from  the  conversation,  but  in  this 
case  it  was  embarrassment.  Though  at  first  I  thought 
she  treated  me  as  a  child  and  I  envied  the  man  of  thirty 


36  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

to  whom  she  talked  of  serious  matters  which  I  could 
not  comprehend,  I  came,  a  few  months  later,  to  under- 
stand how  significant  a  woman's  silence  often  is,  and 
how  many  thoughts  a  voluble  conversation  masks.  At 
first  I  attempted  to  be  at  my  ease  and  take  part  in  it, 
then  I  perceived  the  advantages  of  my  situation  and 
gave  myself  up  to  the  charm  of  listening  to  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  s  voice.  The  breath  of  her  soul  rose  and  fell 
among  the  syllables  as  sound  is  divided  by  the  notes  of 
a  flute  ;  it  died  away  to  the  ear  as  it  quickened  the 
pulsation  of  the  blood.  Her  way  of  uttering  the  termi- 
nations in  t  was  like  a  bird's  song ;  the  ch  as  she  said 
it  was  a  kiss,  but  the  t's  were  an  echo  of  her  heart's 
despotism.  She  thus  extended,  without  herself  know- 
ing that  she  did  so,  the  meaning  of  her  words,  leading 
the  soul  of  the  listener  into  regions  above  this  earth. 
Many  a  time  I  have  continued  a  discussion  I  could 
easily  have  ended,  many  a  time  I  have  allowed  myself 
to  be  unjustly  scolded  that  I  might  listen  to  those  har- 
monies of  the  human  voice,  that  I  migiit  breathe  the 
air  of  her  soul  as  it  left  her  lips,  and  strain  to  my 
soul  that  spoken  light  as  I  would  fain  have  strained 
the  speaker  to  my  breast.  A  swallow's  song  of  joy 
it  was  when  she  was  gay  !  — but  when  she  spoke  of  her 
griefs,  a  swan's  voice  calling  to  its  mates  ! 

Madame  de  Mortsaufs  inattention  to  m}*  presence 
enabled  me  to  examine  her.  M}r  eyes  rejoiced  as  they 
glided  over  the  sweet  speaker  ;  they  kissed  her  feet, 
they  clasped  her  waist,  they  played  with  the  ringlets  of 
her  hair.  And  yet  I  was  a  prey  to  terror,  as  all  who, 
once  in  their  lives,  have  experienced  the  illimitable  joys 
of  a  true  passion  will  understand.     I  feared  she  would 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  37 

detect  me  if  I  let  my  eyes  rest  upon  the  shoulder  I  had 
kissed,  and  the  fear  sharpened  the  temptation.  I 
yielded,  I  looked,  my  eyes  tore  away  the  covering ;  I 
saw  the  mole  which  la}'  where  the  pretty  line  between 
the  shoulders  started,  and  which,  ever  since  the  ball,  had 
sparkled  in  that  twilight  which  seems  the  region  of  the 
sleep  of  youths  whose  imagination  is  ardent  and  whose 
life  is  chaste. 

I  can  sketch  for  you  the  leading  features  which  all 
eyes  saw  in  Madame  de  Mortsauf;  but  no  drawing, 
however  correct,  no  color,  however  warm,  can  repre- 
sent her  to  you.  Her  face  was  of  those  that  require 
the  unattainable  artist,  whose  hand  can  paint  the  re- 
flection of  inward  fires  and  render  that  luminous  vapor 
which  defies  science  and  is  not  revealable  b}T  lan- 
guage—  but  which  a  lover  sees.  Her  soft,  fair  hair 
often  caused  her  much  suffering,  no  doubt  through  sud- 
den rushes  of  blood  to  the  head.  Her  brow,  round  and 
prominent  like  that  of  Joconda,  teemed  with  unuttered 
thoughts,  restrained  feelings  —  flowers  drowning  in  bitter 
waters.  The  eyes,  of  a  green  tinge  flecked  with  brown, 
were  always  wan ;  but  if  her  children  were  in  question, 
or  if  some  keen  emotion  of  joy  or  suffering  (rare  in  the 
lives  of  all  resigned  women)  seized  her,  those  eyes  sent 
forth  a  subtile  gleam  as  if  from  fires  that  were  con- 
suming her,  —  the  gleam  that  wrung  the  tears  from  mine 
when  she  covered  me  with  her  contempt,  and  which 
sufficed  to  lower  the  boldest  eyelid.  A  Grecian  nose, 
designed  it  might  be  by  Phidias,  and  united  by  its 
double  arch  to  lips  that  were  gracefully  curved,  spiritu- 
alized the  face,  which  was  oval  with  a  skin  of  the  tex- 
ture of    a  white  camellia  colored  with  soft  rose-tints 


38  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

upon  the  cheeks.  Her  plumpness  did  not  detract  from 
the  grace  of  her  figure  nor  from  the  rounded  outlines 
which  made  her  shape  beautiful  though  well  developed. 
You  will  understand  the  character  of  this  perfection 
when  I  sa}T  that  where  the  dazzling  treasures  which 
had  so  fascinated  me  joined  the  arm  there  was  no 
crease  or  wrinkle.  No  hollow  disfigured  the  base  of 
her  head,  like  those  which  make  the  necks  of  some 
women  resemble  trunks  of  trees  ;  her  muscles  were  not 
harshly  defined,  and  every  where  the  lines  were  rounded 
into  curves  as  fugitive  to  the  eye  as  to  the  pencil.  A 
soft  down  faintl}*  showed  upon  her  cheeks  and  on  the 
outline  of  her  throat,  catching  the  light  which  made  it 
silken.  Her  little  ears,  perfect  in  shape,  were,  as  she 
said  herself,  the  ears  of  a  mother  and  a  slave.  In  after 
days,  when  our  hearts  were  one,  she  would  say  to  me, 
''Here  comes  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf;"  and  she  was 
right,  though  T,  whose  hearing  is  remarkabty  acute, 
could  hear  nothing. 

Her  arms  were  beautiful.  The  curved  fingers  of  the 
hand  were  long,  and  the  flesh  projected  at  the  side 
-  beyond  the  finger-nails,  like  those  of  antique  statues. 
I  should  displease  you,  I  know,  if  3-011  were  not 
yourself  an  exception  to  m}'  rule,  when  I  say  that 
flat  waists  should  have  the  preference  over  round 
ones.  The  round  waist  is  a  sign  of  strength  ;  but 
women  thus  formed  are  imperious,  self-willed,  and 
more  voluptuous  than  tender.  On  the  other  hand, 
women  with  flat  waists  are  devoted  in  soul,  delicately 
perceptive,  inclined  to  sadness,  more  truly  woman  than 
the  other  class.  The  flat  waist  is  supple  and  yielding ; 
the  round  waist  is  inflexible  and  jealous. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  39 

Yon  now  know  how  she  was  made.  She  had  the  foot 
of  a  well-bred  woman,  —  the  foot  that  walks  little,  is 
quickly  tired,  and  delights  the  eye  when  it  peeps  be- 
neath the  dress.  Though  she  was  the  mother  of  two 
children,  I  have  never  met  any  woman  so  truly  a  }Toung 
girl  as  she.  Her  whole  air  was  one  of  simplicity,  joined  I 
to  a  certain  bashful  dreaminess  which  attracted  others, 
just  as  a  painter  arrests  our  steps  before  a  figure 
into  which  his  genius  has  conveyed  a  world  of  senti- 
ment. If  you  recall  the  pure,  wild  fragrance  of  the 
heath  we  gathered  on  our  return  from  the  Villa  Dio- 
dati,  the  flower  whose  tints  of  black  and  rose  you 
praised  so  warmly,  you  can  fancy  how  this  woman  could 
be  elegant  though  remote  from  the  social  world,  natural 
in  expression,  fastidious  in  all  things  which  became 
part  of  herself,  —  in  short,  like  the  heath  of  mingled 
colors.  Her  bodjT  had  the  freshness  we  admire  in  the 
unfolding  leaf;  her  spirit  the  clear  conciseness  of  the  abo- 
riginal mind  ;  she  was  a  child  by  feeling,  grave  through 
suffering,  the  mistress  of  a  household,  yet  a  maiden  too. 
Therefore  she  charmed  artlessly  and  unconsciously,  by 
her  way  of  sitting  down  or  rising,  of  throwing  in  a  word 
or  keeping  silence.  Though  habitually  collected,  watch- 
ful as  the  sentinel  on  whom  the  safety  of  others  de- 
pends and  who  looks  for  danger,  there  wrere  moments 
when  smiles  would  wreathe  her  lips  and  betra}*"  the 
happy  nature  buried  beneath  the  saddened  bearing  that 
was  the  outcome  of  her  life.  Her  gift  of  attraction  was 
mysterious.  Instead  of  inspiring  the  gallant  attentions 
which  other  women  seek,  she  made  men  dream,  letting 
them  see  her  virginal  nature  of  pure  flame,  her  celes- 
tial visions,  as  we  see  the  azure  heavens  through  rifts 


L 


40  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

in  the  clouds.  This  involuntary  revelation  of  her  being 
made  others  thoughtful.  The  rarity  of  her  gestures, 
above  all,  the  rarit}'  of  her  glances  —  for,  excepting 
her  children,  she  seldom  looked  at  an}T  one  —  gave  a 
strange  solemnity  to  all  she  said  and  did  when  her 
words  or  actions  seemed  to  her  to  compromise  her 
dignity.  V 

On  this  particular  morning  Madame  de  Mortsauf  wore 
a  rose-colored  gown  patterned  in  tiny  stripes,  a  collar 
with  a  wide  hem,  a  black  belt,  and  little  boots  of  the 
same  hue.  Her  hair  was  simply  twisted  round  her 
head,  and  held  in  place  by  a  tortoise-shell  comb.  Such, 
my  dear  Natalie,  is  the  imperfect  sketch  I  promised 
3'ou.  But  the  constant  emanation  of  her  soul  upon  her 
famity,  that  nurturing  essence  shed  in  floods  around 
her  as  the  sun  emits  its  light,  her  inward  nature, 
her  cheerfulness  on  days  serene,  her  resignation  on 
stormy  ones,  —  all  those  variations  of  expression  by 
which  character  is  displa3red  depend,  like  the  effects  in 
the  sky,  on  unexpected  and  fugitive  circumstances, 
which  have  no  connection  with  each  other  except  the 
background  against  which  the}'  rest,  though  all  are 
necessarily  mingled  with  the  events  of  this  history,  — 
truly  a  household  epic,  as  great  to  the  eyes  of  a  wise 
man  as  a  tragedy  to  the  eyes  of  the  crowd,  an  epic  in 
which  you  will  feel  an  interest,  not  only  for  the  part  I 
took  in  it,  but  for  the  likeness  that  it  bears  to  the  des- 
tinies of  so  vast  a  number  of  women. 

Everything  at  Clochegourde  bore  signs  of  a  truly 
English  cleanliness.  The  room  in  which  the  countess 
received  us  was  panelled  throughout  and  painted  in  two 
shades  of  gray.     The  mantelpiece  was  ornamented  with 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  41 

a  clock  inserted  in  a  block  of  mahogany  and  sur- 
mounted with  a  tazza,  and  two  large  vases  of  white 
porcelain  with  gold  lines,  which  held  bunches  of  Cape 
heather.  A  lamp  was  on  a  pier-table,  and  a  backgam- 
mon board  on  legs  before  the  fireplace.  Two  wide 
bands  of  cotton  held  back  the  white  cambric  curtains, 
which  had  no  fringe.  The  furniture  was  covered  with 
gray  cotton  bound  with  a  green  braid,  and  the  tapestry 
on  the  countess's  frame  told  why  the  upholstery  was 
thus  covered.  Such  simplicity  rose  to  grandeur.  No 
apartment,  among  all  that  I  have  since  seen,  has  given 
me  such  fertile,  such  teeming  impressions  as  those  that 
filled  my  mind  in  that  salon  of  Clochegourde,  calm 
and  composed  as  the  life  of  its  mistress,  where  the  con- 
ventual regularity  of  her  occupations  made  itself  felt. 
The  greater  part  of  my  ideas  in  science  or  politics, 
even  the  boldest  of  them,  were  born  in  that  room,  as 
perfumes  emanate  from  flowers  ;  there  grew  the  mys- 
terious plant  that  cast  upon  my  soul  its  fructifying 
pollen  ;  there  glowed  the  solar  warmth  which  developed 
my  good  and  shrivelled  my  evil  qualities.  Through 
the  windows  the  eye  took  in  the  valley  from  the  heights  l~" 
of  Pont-de-Ruan  to  the  chateau  d'Azay,  following  the 
windings  of  the  farther  shore,  picturesquely  varied  by 
the  towers  of  Frapesle,  the  church,  the  village,  and  the 
old  manor-house  of  Sache,  whose  venerable  pile  looked 
clown  upon  the  meadows. 

In  harmony  with  this  reposeful  life,  and  without  other 
excitements  to  emotion  than  those  arising  in  the  family, 
this  scene  conveyed  to  the  soul  its  own  serenit}'.  If  I 
had  met  her  there  for  the  first  time,  between,  the  count 
and  her  two  children,  instead  of  seeing  her  resplendent 


42  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

in  a  ball  dress,  I  should  not  have  ravished  that  deliri- 
ous kiss,  which  now  lilled  me  with  remorse  and  with 
the  fear  of  having  lost  the  future  of  my  love.  No  ;  in 
the  gloom  of  m}*  unhappy  life  I  should  have  bent  my 
knee  and  kissed  the  hem  of  her  garment,  wetting  it 
with  tears,  and  then  I  might  have  flung  myself  into  the 
Indre.  But  having  breathed  the  jasmine  perfume  of 
her  skin  and  drunk  the  milk  of  that  cup  of  love,  my 
soul  had  acquired  the  knowledge  and  the  hope  of  hu- 
man joys  ;  I  would  live  and  await  the  coming  of  happi- 
ness as  the  savage  awaits  his  hour  of  vengeance ;  I 
longed  to  climb  those  trees,  to  creep  among  the  vines, 
to  float  in  the  river ;  I  wanted  the  companionship  of 
night  and  its  silence,  I  needed  lassitude  of  bod\T,  I 
craved  the  heat  of  the  sun  to  make  the  eating  of  the 
delicious  apple  into  which  I  had  bitten  perfect.  Had 
she  asked  of  me  the  singing  flower,  the  riches  buried  by 
the  comrades  of  Morgan  the  destroyer,  I  would  have 
sought  them,  to  obtain  those  other  riches  and  that  mute 
flower  for  which  I  longed. 

When  my  dream,  the  dream  into  which  this  first 
contemplation  of  my  idol  plunged  me,  came  to  an  end 
and  I  heard  her  speaking  of  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  the 
thought  came  that  a  woman  must  belong  to  her  husband, 
and  a  raging  curiosity  possessed  me  to  see  the  owner  of 
this  treasure.  Two  emotions  filled  my  mind,  hatred  and 
fear,  —  hatred  which  allowed  of  no  obstacles  and  meas- 
ured all  without  shrinking,  and  a  vague,  but  real  fear  of 
the  struggle,  of  its  issue,  and  above  all  of  Her. 

"  Here  is  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,"  she  said. 

I  sprang  to  m}-  feet  like  a  startled  horse.  Though 
the  movement  was  seen  bv  Monsieur  de  Chessel  and 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  43 

the  countess,  neither  made  an}T  observation,  for  a  diver- 
sion was  effected  at  this  moment  by  the  entrance  of  a 
little  girl,  whom  I  took  to  be  about  six  years  old,  who 
came  in  exclaiming,  "  Here  's  papa  !  " 

k'  Madeleine?"  said  her  mother,  gently. 

The  child  at  once  held  out  her  hand  to  Monsieur  de 
Cliessel,  and  looked  attentively  at  me  after  making  a 
little  bow  with  an  air  of  astonishment. 

"  Are  you  more  satisfied  about  her  health?"  asked 
Monsieur  de  Chessel. 

"  She  is  better,"  replied  the  countess,  caressing  the 
little  head  which  was  already  nestling  in  her  lap. 

The  next  question  of  Monsieur  de  Chessel  let  me 
know  that  Madeleine  was  nine  years  old ;  I  showed 
great  surprise,  and  immediately  the  clouds  gathered  on 
the  mother's  brow.  My  companion  threw  me  a  signifi- 
cant look,  — one  of  those  which  form  the  education  of 
men  of  the  world.  I  had  stumbled  no  doubt  upon  some 
maternal  wound  the  covering  of  which  should  have  been 
respected.  The  sickly  child,  whose  eyes  were  pallid  and 
whose  skin  was  as  white  as  a  porcelain  vase  with  a  light 
within  it,  would  probably  not  have  lived  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  a  city-.  Country  air  and  her  mother's  brooding 
care  had  kept  the  life  in  that  frail  body,  delicate  as  a 
hot-house  plant  growing  in  a  harsh  and  foreign  climate. 
Though  in  nothing  did  she  remind  me  of  her  mother, 
Madeleine  seemed  to  have  her  soul,  and  that  soul  held 
her  up.  Her  hair  was  scanty  and  black,  her  eyes  and 
cheeks  hollow,  her  arms  thin,  her  chest  narrow,  show- 
ing a  battle  between  life  and  death,  a  duel  without 
truce  in  which  the  mother  had  so  far  been  victorious. 
The  child  willed  to  live,  — perhaps  to  spare  her  mother, 


44  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

for  at  times,  when  not  observed,  she  fell  into  the  attitude 
of  a  weeping-willow.  You  might  have  thought  her  a 
little  gypsy  dying  of  hunger,  begging  her  way,  ex- 
hausted but  alwa}Ts  brave  and  dressed  up  to  play  her 
part. 

"  Where  have  you  left  Jacques?  "  asked  the  countess, 
kissing  the  white  line  which  parted  the  child's  hair  into 
two  bands  that  looked  like  a  crow's  wings. 

"  He  is  coming  with  papa." 

Just  then  the  count  entered,  holding  his  son  by  the 
hand.  Jacques,  the  image  of  his  sister,  showed  the 
same  signs  of  weakness.  Seeing  these  sickly  children 
beside  a  mother  so  magnificently  healthy  it  was  impos- 
sible not  to  guess  at  the  causes  of  the  grief  which 
clouded  her  brow  and  kept  her  silent  on  a  subject  she 
could  take  to  God*  only.  As  he  bowed,  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  gave  me  a  glance  that  was  less  observing  than 
awkwardly  uneasy,  —  the  glance  of  a  man  whose  distrust 
grows  out  of  his  inability  to  analyze.  After  explaining 
the  circumstances  of  our  visit,  and  naming  me  to  him, 
the  countess  gave  him  her  place  and  left  the  room. 
The  children,  whose  ej'es  were  on  those  of  their  mother 
as  if  the}'  drew  the  light  of  theirs  from  hers,  tried  to 
follow  her ;  but  she  said,  with  a  finger  on  her  lips, 
'*  Stay,  dears  !  "  and  the}'  obeyed,  but  their  ejes  filled. 
Ah!  to  hear  that  one  word  "  dears"  what  tasks  they 
would  have  undertaken  ! 

Like  the  children,  I  felt  less  warm  when  she  had  left  us. 
My  name  seemed  to  change  the  count's  feeling  toward 
me.  Cold  and  supercilious  in  his  first  glance,  he  be- 
came at  once,  if  not  affectionate,  at  least  politely  atten- 
tive,   showing    me   eveiy   consideration    and    seeming 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  45 

pleased  to  receive  me  as  a  guest.  My  father  had  for- 
merly clone  devoted  service  to  the  Bourbons,  and  had 
played  an  important  and  perilous,  though  secret  part. 
When  their  cause  was  lost  by  the  elevation  of  Napoleon 
he  took  refuge  in  the  quietude  of  the  country  and  do- 
mestic life,  accepting  the  unmerited  accusations  that 
followed  him  as  the  inevitable  reward  of  those  who  risk 
all  to  win  all,  and  who  succumb  after  serving  as  pivot 
to  the  political  machine.  Knowing  nothing  of  the 
fortunes,  nor  of  the  past,  nor  of  the  future  of  my  familv, 
I  was  unaware  of  this  devoted  service  which  the  Comte 
de  Mortsauf  well  remembered.  Moreover,  the  antiquity 
of  our  name,  the  most  precious  quality  of  a  man  in  his 
eyes,  added  to  the  warmth  of  his  greeting.  I  knew 
nothing  of  these  reasons  until  later;  for  the  time  being 
the  sudden  transition  to  cordiality  put  me  at  my  ease. 
When  the  two  children  saw  that  we  were  all  three  fairly 
engaged  in  conversation,  Madeleine  slipped  her  head 
from  her  father's  hand,  glanced  at  the  open  door,  and 
glided  away  like  an  eel,  Jacques  following  her.  They 
rejoined  their  mother,  and  I  heard  their  voices  and  their 
movements,  sounding  in  the  distance  like  the  murmur 
of  bees  about  a  hive. 

I  watched  the  count,  trying  to  guess  his  character, 
but  I  became  so  interested  in  certain  leading  traits  that 
I  got  no  further  than  a  superficial  examination  of  his 
personality.  Though  he  was  only  forty-five  years  old, 
he  seemed  nearer  sixty,  so  much  had  the  great  ship- 
wreck at  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  centu^  aged  him. 
The  crescent  of  hair  which  monasticallv  fringed  the 
back  of  his  head,  otherwise  completely  bald,  ended  at 
the  ears  in  little  tufts  of  gray  mingled  with  black.     His 


46  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

face  bore  a  vague  resemblance  to  that  of  a  white  wolf  with 
blood  about  its  muzzle,  for  his  nose  was  inflamed  and 
gave  signs  of  a  life  poisoned  at  its  springs  and  vitiated 
by  diseases  of  long  standing.  His  flat  forehead,  too 
broad  for  the  face  beneath  it,  which  ended  in  a  point, 
and  transversely  wrinkled  in  crooked  lines,  gave  signs 
of  a  life  in  the  open  air,  but  not  of  an\'  mental  activity  ; 
it  also  showed  the  burden  of  constant  misfortunes,  but 
not  of  an}T  efforts  made  to  surmount  them.  His  cheek- 
bones, which  were  brown  and  prominent  amid  the  gen- 
eral pallor  of  his  skin,  showed  a  physical  structure 
which  was  likely  to  insure  him  a  long  life.  His  hard, 
light-yellow  eye  fell  upon  mine  like  a  ray  of  wintry  sun, 
bright  without  warmth,  anxious  without  thought,  dis- 
trustful without  conscious  cause.  His  mouth  was  vio- 
lent and  domineering,  his  chin  flat  and  long.  Thin  and 
very  tall,  he  had  the  bearing  of  a  gentleman  who  relies 
upon  the  conventional  value  of  his  caste,  who  knows 
himself  above  others  by  right,  and  beneath  them  in  fact. 
The  carelessness  of  country  life  made  him  neglect  his 
external  appearance.  His  dress  was  that  of  a  country- 
man whom  peasants  and  neighbors  no  longer  considered 
except  for  his  territorial  worth.  His  brown  and  wiry 
hands  showed  that  he  wore  no  gloves  unless  he  mounted 
a  horse,  or  went  to  church,  and  his  shoes  were  thick 
and  common. 

Though  ten  years  of  emigration  and  ten  years  more 
of  farm-life  had  changed  his  plrysical  condition,  he  still 
retained  certain  vestiges  of  nobility.  The  bitterest 
liberal  (a  term  not  then  in  circulation)  would  readily 
have  admitted  his  chivalric  loyalty  and  the  imperishable 
convictions  of  one  who  pins  his  faith  to  the  Quotidi- 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  47 

enne  ;  he  would  have  felt  respect  for  the  man  religiously 
devoted  to  a  cause,  honest  in  his  political  antipathies, 
incapable  of  serving  his  party  but  very  capable  of 
injuring  it,  and  without  the  slightest  real  knowledge 
of  the  affairs  of  France.  The  count  was  in  fact  one  of 
those  upright  men  who  are  available  for  nothing,  but 
stand  obstinately  in  the  way  of  all ;  ready  to  die  under 
arms  at  the  post  assigned  to  them,  but  preferring  to 
give  their  life  rather  than  to  give  their  mone}T.  - — 1 

During  dinner  I  detected,  in  the  hanging  of  his  flaccid 
cheeks  and  the  covert  glances  he  cast  now  and  then 
upon  his  children,  the  traces  of  some  wearing  thought 
which  showed  for  a  moment  upon  the  surface.  Watch- 
ing him,  who  could  fail  to  understand  him  ?  Who  would 
not  have  seen  that  he  had  fatally  transmitted  to  his  chil- 
dren those  weakly  bodies  in  which  the  principle  of  life 
was  lacking.  But  if  he  blamed  himself  he  denied  to 
others  the  right  to  judge  him.  Harsh  as  one  who 
knows  himself  in  fault,  yet  without  greatness  of  soul  or 
charm  to  compensate  for  the  weight  of  misery  he  had 
thrown  into  the  balance,  his  private  life  was  no  doubt 
the  scene  of  irascibilities  that  were  plainly  revealed  in 
his  angular  features  and  by  the  incessant  restlessness 
of  his  eye.  When  his  wife  returned,  followed  by  the 
children  who  seemed  fastened  to  her  side,  I  felt  the 
presence  of  unhappiness,  just  as  in  walking  over  the 
roof  of  a  vault  the  feet  become  in  some  way  conscious 
of  the  depths  below.  Seeing  these  four  human  beings^ 
together,  holding  them  all  as  it  were  in  one  glance,  let- 
ting my  eye  pass  from  one  to  the  other,  studying  their 
countenances  and  their  respective  attitudes,  thoughts 
steeped  in  sadness  fell  upon  mj'  heart  as  a  fine  gray 


48  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

rain  dims  a  charming  landscape  after  the  sun  has  risen 
clear. 
L-^  When  the  immediate  subject  of  conversation  was 
exhausted  the  count  told  his  wife  who  I  was,  and  re- 
lated certain  circumstances  connected  with  my  family 
which  were  wholl}'  unknown  to  me.  He  asked  me  my 
age.  When  I  told  it,  the  countess  echoed  my  own 
exclamation  of  surprise  at  her  daughter's  age.  Perhaps 
she  had  thought  me  fifteen.  Later  on,  I  discovered  that 
this  was  still  another  tie  which  bound  her  strongly  to 
me.  Even  then  I  read  her  soul.  Her  motherhood 
quivered  with  a  tardy  ra}-  of  hope.  Seeing  me  at  over 
twenty  years  of  age  so  slight  and  delicate  and  yet  so 
nervously  strong,  a  voice  cried  to  her,  "  They  too  will 
live !  "  She  looked  at  me  searching!}',  and  in  that 
moment  I  felt  the  barriers  of  ice  melting  between  us. 
She  seemed  to  have  many  questions  to  ask,  but  uttered 
none. 

"  If  study  has  made  you  ill,"  she  said,  "the  air  of 
our  valley  will  soon  restore  you." 

"  Modern  education  is  fatal  to  children,"  remarked 
the  count.  "  We  stuff  them  with  mathematics  and  ruin 
their  health  with  science,  and  make  them  old  before 
their  time.  You  must  stay  and  rest  here,"  he  added, 
turning  to  me.  "  You  are  crushed  by  the  avalanche  of 
ideas  that  have  rolled  down  upon  yon.  What  sort  of 
future  will  this  universal  education  bring  upon  us  unless 
we  prevent  its  evils  by  replacing  public  education  in  the 
hands  of  the  religious  bodies?  " 

These  wrords  were  in  harmony  with  a  speech  which 
he  afterwards  made  at  the  elections  when  he  refused 
his  support  to  a  man  whose  gifts  would  have  done  good 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  49 

service  to  the  royalist  cause.     "  I  shall  always  distrust 
men  of  talent,"  he  said. 

Presently  the  count  proposed  that  we  should  make 
the  tour  of  the  gardens. 

"  Monsieur  —  "  said  his  wife. 

"  Well,  what,  my  dear?  "  he  said,  turning  to  her  with 
an  arrogant  harshness  which  showed  plainly  enough 
how  absolute  he  chose  to  be  in  his  own  home. 

M  Monsieur  de  Vandenesse  walked  from  Tours  this 
morning  and  Monsieur  de  Chessel,  not  aware  of  it,  has 
already  taken  him  on  foot  over  Frapesle." 

"  Very  imprudent  of  you,"  the  count  said,  turning  to 
me;  "  but  at  your  age  —  "  and  he  shook  his  head  in 
sign  of  regret. 

The  conversation  was  resumed.  I  soon  saw  how 
intractable  his  royalism  was,  and  how  much  care  was 
needed  to  swim  safely  in  his  waters.  The  man-servant, 
who  had  now  put  on  his  liver}',  announced  dinner. 
Monsieur  de  Chessel  gave  his  arm  to  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf,  and  the  count  gayly  seized  mine  to  lead  me  into 
the  dining-room,  which  was  on  the  ground-floor  facing 
the  salon. 

This  room,  floored  with  white  tiles  made  in  Touraine, 
and  wainscoted  to  the  height  of  three  feet,  was  hung 
with  a  varnished  paper  divided  into  wide  panels  by 
wreaths  of  flowers  and  fruit ;  the  windows  had  cambric 
curtains  trimmed  with  red,  the  buffets  were  old  pieces  b\~ 
Boulle  himself,  and  the  woodwork  of  the  chairs,  which 
were  covered  by  hand-made  tapestry,  was  carved  oak. 
The  dinner,  plentifully  supplied,  was  not  luxurious ; 
family  silver  without  uniformity,  Dresden  china  which 
was  not  then  in  fashion,  octagonal  decanters,  knives 

4 


50  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

with  agate  handles,  and  lacquered  trays  beneath  the 
wine-bottles,  were  the  chief  features  of  the  table,  but 
flowers  adorned  the  porcelain  vases  and  overhung  the 
gilding  of  their  fluted  edges.  I  delighted  in  these 
quaint  old  things.  .  I  thought  the  Reveillon  paper 
with  its  flowery  garlands  beautiful.  The  sweet  content 
that  filled  my  sails  hindered  me  from  perceiving  the 
obstacles  which  a  life  so  uniform,  so  unvarying  in 
solitude  of  the  country  placed  between  her  and  me. 
I  was  near  her,  sitting  at  her  right  hand,  serving  her 
with  wine.  Yes,  unhoped-for  joy  !  I  touched  her  dress, 
I  ate  her  bread.  At  the  end  of  three  hours  my  life  had 
mingled  with  her  life !  That  terrible  kiss  had  bound 
us  to  each  other  in  a  secret  which  inspired  us  with  mu- 
tual shame.  A  glorious  self-abasement  took  possession 
of  me.  I  studied  to  please  the  count,  I  fondled  the 
dogs,  I  would  gladl}*  have  gratified  every  desire  of  the 
children,  I  would  have  brought  them  hoops  and  marbles 
and  played  horse  with  them  ;  I  was  even  provoked  that 
they  did  not  already  fasten  upon  me  as  a  thing  of  their 
own.  Love  has  intuitions  like  those  of  genius;  and  I 
dimly  perceived  that  gloom,  discontent,  hostility  would 
destro3T  my  footing  in  that  household. 

The  dinner  passed  with  inward  happiness  on  nry  part. 
Feeling  that  I  was  there,  under  her  roof,  I  gave  no  heed 
to  her  obvious  coldness,  nor  to  the  count's  indifference 
masked  b}'  his  politeness.  Love,  like  life,  has  an  adol- 
escence during  which  period  it  suffices  unto  itself.  I 
made  several  stupid  replies  induced  by  the  tumults 
of  passion,  but  no  one  perceived  their  cause,  not  even 
she,  who  knew  nothing  of  love.  The  rest  of  my  visit 
was  a  dream,  a  dream  which  did  not  cease  until   by 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  •    51 

moonlight  on  that  warm  and  balmy  night  I  recrossed 
the  Indre,  watching  the  white  visions  that  embellished 
meadows,  shores,  and  hills,  and  listening  to  the  clear 
song,  the  matchless  note,  full  of  deep  roelancholj*  and 
uttered  only  in  still  weather,  of  a  tree-frog  whose  scien- 
tific name  is  unknown  to  me.  Since  that  solemn  even- 
ing I  have  never  heard  it  without  infinite  delight.  A 
sense  came  to  me  then  of  the  marble  wall  against  which 
my  feelings  had  hitherto  dashed  themselves.  Would  it 
be  always  so?  I  fancied  myself  under  some  fatal  spell ; 
the  unhappy  events  of  my  past  life  rose  up  and  strug- 
gled with  the  purety  personal  pleasure  I  had  just  en- 
joyed. Before  reaching  Frapesle  I  turned  to  look  at 
Clochegourde  and  saw  beneath  its  windows  a  little  boat, 
called  in  Touraine  a  punt,  fastened  to  an  ash-tree  and 
swaying  on  the  water.  This  punt  belonged  to  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf,  who  used  it  for  fishing. 

u  Well,"  said  Monsieur  de  Chessel,  when  we  were 
out  of  ear-shot.  "  I  need  n't  ask  if  3-011  found  those 
shoulders ;  I  must,  however,  congratulate  you  on  the 
reception  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  gave  you.  The  devil ! 
you  stepped  into  his  heart  at  once." 

These  words  followed  by  those  I  have  already  quoted 
to  you  raised  my  spirits.  I  had  not  as  }Tet  said  a  word, 
and  Monsieur  de  Chessel  may  have  attributed  my  silence 
to  happiness. 

"  How  do  you  mean?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  never,  to  my  knowledge,  received  any  one  so 
well." 

u  I  will  admit  that  I  am  rather  surprised  myself,"  I 
said,  conscious  of  a  certain  bitterness  underlying  my 
companion's  speech. 


52  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

Though  I  was  too  inexpert  in  social  matters  to  un- 
derstand its  cause,  I  was  much  struck  hy  the  feeling 
Monsieur   de    Chessel   betrayed.     His    real    name  was 
Durand,  but  he  had  had  the  weakness  to  discard  the 
name  of  a  worth}'  father,  a  merchant  who  had  made 
a  large  fortune   under  the   Revolution.     His  wife  was 
sole    heiress    of   the   Chessels,    an   old   parliamentary 
family   under   Henry   IV.,   belonging    to    the    middle 
classes,  as  did  most  of  the  Parisian  magistrates.     Am- 
bitious of  higher  flights  Monsieur  de  Chessel  endeav- 
ored to  smother  the  original  Durand.     He  first  called 
himself  Durand  de  Chessel,  then  D.  de  Chessel,  and 
that  made  him  Monsieur  de  Chessel.     Under  the  Res- 
toration he  entailed  an  estate  with  the  title  of  count 
in   virtue   of  letters-patent   from   Louis   XVIII.     His 
children  reaped  the  fruits  of  his  audacity  without  know- 
ing what  it  cost  him  in  sarcastic  comments.     Parvenus 
are  like  monkeys,  whose  cleverness  they  possess ;  we 
watch  them  climbing,  we  admire  their  agilit}*,  but  once 
at  the  summit  we  see  only  their  absurd  and  contempt- 
ible parts.     The   reverse  side   of  my  host's  character 
was  made  up  of  pettiness  with  the  addition  of  envy. 
The  peerage  and  he  were  on  diverging  lines.     To  have  \ 
an  ambition  and  gratify  it  shows  merely  the  insolence  ( 
of  strength,  but  to  live  below  one's  avowed  ambition  is 
a  constant  source  of  ridicule  to  petty  minds.     Monsieur 
de  Chessel  did  not  advance  with  the  straightforward  step 
of  a  strong  man.    Twice  elected  deputj*,  twice  defeated  ; 
yesterday  director-general,  to-day  nothing  at   all,  not 
even  prefect,  his  successes  and  his  defeats  had  injured 
his  nature,  and  given  him  the   sourness  of  invalided 
ambition.     Though  a  brave  man  and  a  witty  one  and 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  53 

capable  of  great  things,  env\',  which  is  the  root  of  exist- 
ence in  Touraine,  the  inhabitants  of  which  employ  their 
native  genius  in  jealousy  of  all  things,  injured  him  in 
upper  social  circles,  where  a  dissatisfied  man,  frowning 
at  the  success  of  others,  slow  at  compliments  and  ready 
at  epigram,  seldom  succeeds.  Had  he  sought  less  he 
might  perhaps  have  obtained  more  ;  but  unhappily  he 
had  enough  genuine  superiority  to  make  him  wish  to 
advance  in  his  own  wa}\ 

At  this  particular  time  Monsieur  de  Chessel's  ambi- 
tion had  a  second  dawn.  Royalt}'  smiled  upon  him, 
and  he  was  now  affecting  the  grand  manner.  Still  he 
was,  I  must  saj',  most  kind  to  me,  and  he  pleased  me 
for  the  very  simple  reason  that  with  him  I  had  found 
peace  and  rest  for  the  first  time.  The  interest,  possibly 
very  slight,  which  he  showed  in  my  affairs,  seemed  to 
me,  lonely  and  rejected  as  I  was,  an  image  of  paternal 
love.  His  hospitable  care  contrasted  so  strongly  with 
the  neglect  to  which  I  was  accustomed,  that  I  felt  a 
childlike  gratitude  to  the  home  where  no  fetters  bound 
me  and  where  I  was  welcomed  and  even  courted. 

The  owners  of  Frapesle  are  so  associated  with  the 
dawrn  of  my  life's  happiness  that  I  mingle  them  in  all 
those  memories  I  love  to  revive.  Later,  and  more  es- 
pecially in  connection  with  his  letters-patent,  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  doing  m}*  host  some  service.  Monsieur  de 
Chessel  enjoyed  his  wealth  with  an  ostentation  that  gave 
umbrage  to  certain  of  his  neighbors.  He  was  able  to 
vary  and  renew  his  fine  horses  and  elegant  equipages ; 
hU  wife  dressed  exquisitely  ;  he  received  on  a  grand 
scale  ;  his  servants  were  more  numerous  than  his  neigh- 
bors approved  ;  for  all  of  which  he  was  said  to  be  aping 


54  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

princes.  The  Frapesle  estate  is  immense.  Before, such 
luxury  as  this  the  Comte  de  Mortsauf,  with  one  family 
cariole,  —  which  in  Touraine  is  something  between  a 
coach  without  springs  and  a  post-chaise,  —  forced  bjr 
limited  means  to  let  or  farm  Clochegourde,  was  Touran- 
gean  up  to  the  time  when  royal  favor  restored  the  fam- 
ily to  a  distinction  possibly  unlooked  for.  His  greeting 
to  me,  the  younger  son  of  a  ruined  family  whose  es- 
cutcheon dated  back  to  the  Crusades,  was  intended  to 
show  contempt  for  the  large  fortune  and  to  belittle  the 
possessions,  the  woods,  the  arable  lands,  the  meadows, 
of  a  neighbor  who  was  not  of  noble  birth.  Monsieur 
de  Chessel  fully  understood  this.  They  always  met 
politely ;  but  there  was  none  of  that  daily  intercourse 
or  that  agreeable  intimac}r  which  ought  to  have  existed 
between  Clochegourde  and  Frapesle,  two  estates  sepa- 
rated only  by  the  Indre,  and  whose  mistresses  could 
have  beckoned  to  each  other  from  their  windows. 

Jealousy,  however,  was  not  the  sole  reason  for  the 
solitude  in  which  the  Count  de  Mortsauf  lived.  His 
early  education  was  that  of  the  children  of  great  fam- 
ilies, —  an  incomplete  and  superficial  instruction  as 
to  knowledge,  but  supplemented  by  the  training  of 
societ}',  the  habits  of  a  court  life,  and  the  exercise  of 
important  duties  under  the  crown  or  in  eminent  offices. 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  had  emigrated  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  the  second  stage  of  his  education  was  about 
to  begin,  and  accordingly  that  training  was  lacking  to 
him.  He  was  one  of  those  who  believed  in  the  immedi- 
ate restoration  of  the  monarchy ;  with  that  conviction 
in  his  mind,  his  exile  was  a  long  and  miserable  period 
of  idleness.      When   the   army   of  Conde,    which   his 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  55 

courage  led  him  to  join  with  the  utmost  devotion,  was 
disbanded,  he  expected  to  find  some  other  post  under 
the  white  flag,  and  never  sought,  like  other  emigrants, 
to  take  up  an  industry.  Perhaps  he  had  not  the  sort 
of  courage  that  could  la)7  aside  his  name  and  earn  his 
living  in  the  sweat  of  a  toil  he  despised.  His  hopes, 
daily  postponed  to  the  morrow,  and  possibly  a  scruple 
of  honor,  kept  him  from  offering  his  services  to  foreign 
powers.  Trials  undermined  his  courage.  Long  tramps 
afoot  on  insufficient  nourishment,  and  above  all,  on 
hopes  betrayed,  injured  his  health  and  discouraged  his 
mind.  By  degrees  he  became  utterly  destitute.  If  to 
some  men  misery  is  a  tonic,  on  others  it  acts  as  a  dis- 
solvent ;  and  the  count  was  of  the  latter. 

Reflecting  on  the  life  of  this  poor  Touraine  gentle- 
man, tramping  and  sleeping  along  the  highroads  of 
Hungary,  sharing  the  mutton  of  Prince  Esterhazy's 
shepherds,  from  whom  the  foot-worn  traveller  begged 
the  food  he  would  not,  as  a  gentleman,  have  accepted 
at  the  table  of  the  master,  and  refusing  again  and  again 
to  do  service  to  the  enemies  of  France,  I  never  found  it 
in  nry  heart  to  feel  bitterness  against  him,  even  when  I 
saw  him  at  his  worst  in  after  days.  The  natural  gayety 
of  a  Frenchman  and  a  Tourangean  soon  deserted  him  ; 
he  became  morose,  fell  ill,  and  was  charitably  cared  for 
in  some  German  hospital.  His  disease  was  an  inflam- 
mation of  the  mesenteric  membrane,  which  is  often  fatal, 
and  is  liable,  even  if  cured,  to  change  the  constitution 
and  produce  hypochondria.  His  love  affairs,  carefully 
buried  out  of  sight  and  which  I  alone  discovered,  were 
low-lived,  and  not  only  destroyed  his  health  but  ruined 
his  future. 


56  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

After  twelve  years  of  great  miseiy  he  made  his  way 
to  France,  under  the  decree  of  the  Emperor  which  per- 
mitted the  return  of  the  emigrants.  As  the  wretched 
wayfarer  crossed  the  Rhine  and  saw  the  tower  of  Stras- 
bourg against  the  evening  sky,  his  strength  gave  way. 
kt  '  France  !  France  ! '  I  cried.  '  I  see  France  ! ' "  (he  said 
to  me)  uasa  child  cries  4  Mother ! '  when  it  is  hurt." 
Born  to  wealth,  he  was  now  poor ;  made  to  command 
a  regiment  or  govern  a  province,  he  was  now  without 
authority  and  without  a  future  ;  constitutionally  healthy 
and  robust,  he  returned  infirm  and  utterly  worn  out. 
Without  enough  education  to  take  his  part  among  men 
and  affairs,  now  broadened  and  enlarged  by  the  march 
of  events,  necessarily  without  influence  of  any  kind, 
he  lived  despoiled  of  everything,  of  his  moral  strength 
as  well  as  his  physical.  Want  of  mone}'  made  his 
name  a  burden.  His  unalterable  opinions,  his  ante- 
cedents with  the  armrv  of  Conde,  his  trials,  his  recollec- 
tions, his  wasted  health,  gave  him  susceptibilities  which 
are  but  little  spared  in  France,  that  land  of  jest  and 
sarcasm.  Half  dead  lie  reached  Maine,  where,  b}'  some 
accident  of  the  civil  war,  the  revolutionary  government 
had  forgotten  to  sell  one  of  his  farms  of  considerable 
extent,  which  his  farmer  had  held  for  him  by  giving  out 
that  he  himself  was  the  owner  of  it. 

When  the  Lenoncourt  family,  living  at  Givry,  an 
estate  not  far  from  this  farm,  heard  of  the  arrival  of 
the  Comte  de  Mortsauf,  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt  invited 
him  to  stay  at  Givry  while  a  house  was  being  prepared 
for  him.  The  Lenoncourt  family  were  nobly  generous 
to  him,  and  with  them  he  remained  some  months,  strug- 
gling to  hide  his  sufferings  during  that  first  period  of 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  57 

rest.  The  Lenoncourts  had  themselves  lost  an  im- 
mense property.  By  birth  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was 
a  suitable  husband  for  their  daughter.  Mademoiselle 
de  Lenoncourt,  instead  of  rejecting  a  marriage  with  a 
feeble  and  worn-out  man  of  thirty-five,  seemed  satis- 
fied to  accept  it.  It  gave  her  the  opportunity  of  living 
with  her  aunt,  the  Duchesse  de  Verneuil,  sister  of  the 
Prince  de  Blaumont-Chauviy,  who  was  like  a  mother 
to  her. 

Madame  de  Verneuil,  the  intimate  friend  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Bourbon,  was  a  member  of  the  devout 
society  of  which  Monsieur  Saint-Martin  (born  in  Tou- 
raine  and  called  the  Philosopher  of  Mysterj*)  was  the 
soul.  The  disciples  of  this  philosopher  practised  the 
virtues  taught  them  by  the  lofty  doctrines  of  mystical 
illumination.  These  doctrines  hold  the  key  to  worlds 
divine  ;  they  explain  existence  by  reincarnations  through 
which  the  human  spirit  rises  to  its  sublime  destiny  ;  they 
liberate  duty  from  its  legal  degradation,  enable  the  soul 
to  meet  the  trials  of  life  with  the  unalterable  serenity  of 
the  Quaker,  ordain  contempt  for  thlTsufferings  of  this 
life,  and  inspire  a  fostering  care  of  that  angel  within 
us  who  allies  us  to  the  divine.  It  is  stoicism  with  an 
immortal  future.  Active  prayer  and  pure  love  are  the 
elements  of  this  faith,  which  is  born  of  the  Roman 
Church  but  returns  to  the  Christianity  of  the  primitive 
faith.  Mademoiselle  de  Lenoncourt  remained,  how- 
ever, in  the  Catholic  communion,  to  which  her  aunt 
was  equally  bound.  Cruelly  tried  by  revolutionaiy  hor- 
rors, the  Duchesse  de  Verneuil  acquired  in  the  last  jears 
of  her  life  a  halo  of  passionate  piety,  which,  to  use  the 
phraseology  of  Saint-Martin,  shed  the  light  of  celestial 


58  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

love  and  the  chrism  of  inward  joy  upon  the  soul  of  her 
cherished  niece. 

After  the  death  of  her  aunt,  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
received  several  visits  at  Clochegourde  from  Saint- 
Martin,  a  man  of  peace  and  of  virtuous  wisdom.  It 
was  at  Clochegourde  that  he  corrected  his  last  books, 
printed  at  Tours  by  Letourmy.  Madame  de  Verneuil, 
wise  with  the  wisdom  of  an  old  woman  who  has  known 
the  stormy  straits  of  life,  gave  Clochegourde  to  the 
young  wife  for  her  married  home  ;  and  with  the  grace 
of  old  age,  so  perfect  where  it  exists,  the  duchess 
3'ielded  eveiything  to  her  niece,  reserving  for  herself 
only  one  room  above  the  one  she  had  always  occupied, 
and  which  she  now  fitted  up  for  the  countess.  Her 
sudden  death  threw  a  gloom  over  the  early  days  of  the 
marriage,  and  connected  Clochegourde  with  ideas  of 
sadness  in  the  sensitive  mind  of  the  bride.  The  first 
period  of  her  settlement  in  Touraine  was  to  Madame 
de  Mortsauf,  I  cannot  say  the  happiest,  but  the  least 
troubled  of  her  life. 

After  the  many  trials  of  his  exile,  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf, taking  comfort  in  the  thought  of  a  secure  fu- 
ture, had  a  certain  recovery  of  mind  ;  he  breathed  anew 
in  this  sweet  valley  the  intoxicating  essence  of  re- 
vived hope.  Compelled  to  husband  his  means,  he 
threw  himself  into  agricultural  pursuits  and  began  to 
find  some  happiness  in  life.  But  the  birth  of  his  first 
child,  Jacques,  was  a  thunderbolt  which  ruined  both 
the  past  and  the  future.  The  doctor  declared  the  child 
had  not  vitality  enough  to  live.  The  count  concealed 
this  sentence  from  the  mother;  but  he  sought  other 
advice,  and  received  the  same  fatal  answer,  the  truth 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  59 

of  which  was  confirmed  at  the  subsequent  birth  of 
Madeleine.  These  events  and  a  certain  inward  con- 
sciousness of  the  cause  of  this  disaster  increased  the 
diseased  tendencies  of  the  man  himself.  His  name 
doomed  to  extinction,  a  pure  and  irreproachable 
young  woman  made  miserable  beside  him  and  doomed 
to  the  anguish  of  maternity  without  its  joys  —  this 
uprising  of  his  former  into  his  present  life,  with  its 
growth  of  new  sufferings,  crushed  his  spirit  and  com- 
pleted its  destruction. 

The  countess  guessed  the  past  from  the  present,  and 
read  the  future.  Though  nothing  is  so  difficult  as  to 
make  a  man  happy  when  he  knows  himself  to  blame, 
she  set  herself  to  that  task,  which  is  worthy  of  an 
angel.  She  became  stoical.  Descending  into  an  abyss, 
whence  she  still  could  see  the  sky,  she  devoted  herself 
to  the  care  of  one  man  as  the  sister  of  charity  devotes 
herself  to  many.  To  reconcile  him  with  himself,  she 
forgave  him  that  for  which  he  had  no  forgiveness.  The 
count  grew  miserlv ;  she  accepted  the  privations  he 
imposed.  Like  all  who  have  known  the  world  only  to 
acquire  its  suspiciousness,  he  feared  betrayal ;  she 
lived  in  solitude  and  yielded  without  a  murmur  to  his 
mistrust.  With  a  woman's  tact  she  made  him  will  to 
do  that  which  was  right,  till  he  fancied  the  ideas  were 
his  own,  and  thus  enjo\Ted  in  his  own  person  the  honors 
of  a  superiority  that  was  never  his.  After  due  experi- 
ence of  married  life,  she  came  to  the  resolution  of  never 
leaving  Clochegourde  ;  for  she  saw  the  hysterical  ten- 
dencies of  the  count's  nature,  and  feared  the  outbreaks 
which  might  be  talked  of  in  that  gossipping  and  jealous 
neighborhood   to   the   injury  of   her   children.     Thus, 


60  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

thanks  to  her,  no  one  suspected  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  s 
real  incapacit}-,  for  she  wrapped  his  ruins  in  a  mantle 
of  ivy.  The  fickle,  not  merely  discontented  but  embit- 
tered nature  of  the  man  found  rest  and  ease  in  his 
wife  ;  his  secret  anguish  was  lessened  by  the  balm  she 
shed  upon  it. 

This  brief  history  is  in  part  a  summary  of  that  forced 
from  Monsieur  de  Chessel  by  his  inward  vexation.  His 
knowledge  of  the  world  enabled  him  to  penetrate  sev- 
eral of  the  mysteries  of  Clochegourde.  But  the  pre- 
science of  love  could  not  be  misled  b}r  the  sublime 
attitude  with  which  Madame  de  Mortsauf  deceived 
the  world.  When  alone  in  my  little  bedroom,  a  sense 
of  the  full  truth  made  me  spring  from  my  bed  ;  I  could 
not  bear  to  stay  at  Frapesle  when  I  saw  the  lighted 
windows  of  Clochegourde.  I  dressed,  went  softty  down, 
and  left  the  chateau  b}'  the  door  of  a  tower  at  the 
foot  of  a  winding  stairway.  The  coolness  of  the  night 
calmed  me.  I  crossed  the  Indre  b}7  the  bridge  at  the 
Red  Mill,  took  the  ever-blessed  punt,  and  rowed  in  front 
of  Clochegourde,  where  a  brilliant  light  was  streaming 
from  a  window  looking  towards  Azay. 

Again  I  plunged  into  my  old  meditations ;  but  they 
were  now  peaceful,  intermingled  with  the  love-note 
of  the  nightingale  and  the  solitary  cry  of  the  sedge- 
warbler.  Ideas  glided  like  fairies  through  my  mind, 
lifting  the  black  veil  which  had  hidden  till  then  the 
glorious  future.  Soul  and  senses  were  alike  charmed. 
With  what  passion  my  thoughts  rose  to  her !  Again 
and  again  I  cried,  with  the  repetition  of  a  madman, 
"  Will  she  be  mine?"  During  the  preceding  days  the 
universe  had  enlarged  to  me,  but  now  in  a  single  night 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  61 

I  found  its  centre.     On  her  my  will  and  my  ambition 
henceforth  fastened  ;  I  desired  to  be  all  in  all  to  her,  * 
that  I  might  heal  and  fill  her  lacerated  heart. 

Beautiful  was  that  night  beneath  her  windows,  amid 
the  murmur  of  waters  rippling  through  the  sluices, 
broken  only  by  a  voice  that  told  the  hours  from  the 
clock- tower  of  Sache.  During  those  hours  of  darkness 
bathed  in  light,  when  this  sidergaJU^ower  illumined  my 
existence,  I  betrothed  to  her  m}'  soul  with  the  faith  of 
the  poor  Castilian  knight  whom  we  laugh  at  in  the  pages 
of  Cervantes,  —  a  faith,  nevertheless,  with  which  all 
love  begins. 

At  the  first  gleam  of  day,  the  first  note  of  the  waking 
birds,  I  fled  back  among  the  trees  of  Frapesle  and 
reached  the  house  ;  no  one  had  seen  me,  no  one  sus- 
pected my  absence,  and  I  slept  soundly  until  the  bell 
rang  for  breakfast.  When  the  meal  was  over  I  went 
down,  in  spite  of  the  heat,  to  the  meadow-lands  for 
another  sight  of  the  Indre  and  its  isles,  the  valley  and 
its  slopes,  of  which  I  seemed  so  passionate  an  admirer. 
But  once  there,  thanks  to  a  swiftness  of  foot  like  that  of 
a  loose  horse,  I  returned  to  my  punt,  the  willows,  and 
Clochegourde.  All  was  silent  and  palpitating,  as  a 
landscape  is  at  midday  in  summer.  The  still  foliage 
lay  sharply  defined  on  the  blue  of  the  sky ;  the  insects 
that  live  by  light,  the  dragon-flies,  the  cantharides,  were 
flying  among  the  reeds  and  the  ash-trees ;  cattle 
chewed  the  cud  in  the  shade,  the  ruddy  earth  of  the 
vineyards  glowed,  the  adders  glided  up  and  down  the 
banks.  What  a  change  in  the  sparkling  and  coquettish 
landscape  while  I  slept !  I  sprang  suddenly  from  the 
boat  and  ran  up  the  road  which  went  round  Clochegourde 


62  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

for  I  fancied  that  I  saw  the  count  coming  out.  I  was 
not  mistaken ;  he  was  walking  beside  the  hedge, 
evidently  making  for  a  gate  on  the  road  to  Azay  which 
followed  the  bank  of  the  river. 

"  How  are  you  this  morning,  Monsieur  le  comte?" 

He  looked  at  me  pleasantly,  not  being  used  to  hear 
himself  thus  addressed. 

"  Quite  well,"  he  answered.  "You  must  love  the 
country,  to  be  rambling  about  in  this  heat !  " 

"  I  was  sent  here  to  live  in  the  open  air." 

"  Then  what  do  you  say  to  coming  with  me  to  see 
them  cut  my  rye." 

"  Gladly,"  I  replied.  "I'll  own  to  you  that  my 
ignorance  is  past  belief;  I  don't  know  rye  from  wheat, 
nor  a  poplar  from  an  aspen  ;  I  know  nothing  of  farming, 
nor  of  the  various  methods  of  cultivating  the  soil." 

"  Well,  come  and  learn,"  he  cried  gayly,  returning 
upon  his  steps.     "  Come  in  by  the  little  gate  above." 

The  count  walked  back  along  the  hedge,  he  being 
within  it  and  I  without. 

"  You  will  learn  nothing  from  Monsieur  de  Chessel," 
he  remarked;  "he  is  altogether  too  fine  a  gentleman 
to  do  more  than  receive  the  reports  of  his  bailiff." 

The  count  then  showed  me  his  3-ards  and  the  farm 
buildings,  the  pleasure-grounds,  orchards,  vineyards,  and 
kitchen  garden,  until  we  finally  came  to  the  long  alley 
of  acacias  and  ailanthus  beside  the  river,  at  the  end  of 
which  I  saw  Madame  de  Mortsauf  sitting  on  a  bench, 
with  her  children.  A  woman  is  very  lovely  under  the 
light  and  quivering  shade  of  such  foliage.  Surprised, 
perhaps,  at  my  prompt  visit,  she  did  not  move,  knowing 
very  well  that  we  should  go  to  her.     The  count  made 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  63 

me  admire  the  view  of  the  valley,  which  at  this  point 
is  totally  different  from  that  seen  from  the  heights 
above.  Here  I  might  have  thought  myself  in  a  corner 
of  Switzerland.  The  meadows,  furrowed  with  little 
brooks  whicli  flow  into  the  Indre,  can  be  seen  to  their  full 
extent  till  lost  in  the  misty  distance.  Towards  Mont-, 
bazon  the  eye  ranges  over  a  vast  green  plain ;  in  all 
other  directions  it  is  stopped  b}'  hills,  by  masses  of 
trees,  and  rocks.  We  quickened  our  steps  as  we  ap- 
proached Madame  de  Mortsauf,  who  suddenly  dropped 
the  book  in  which  Madeleine  was  reading  to  her  and 
took  Jacques  upon  her  knees,  in  the  paroxj-sms  of  a 
violent  cough. 

M  What's  the  matter?"  cried  the  count,  turning  livid. 

"A  sore  throat,"  answered  the  mother,  who  seemed 
not  to  see  me;  u  but  it  is  nothing  serious." 

She  was  holding  the  child  by  the  head  and  body,  and 
her  eyes  seemed  to  shed  two  rays  of  life  into  the  poor 
frail  creature. 

"  You  are  so  extraordinarily  imprudent,"  said  the 
count,  sharply;  "you  expose  him  to  the  river  damps 
and  let  him  sit  on  a  stone  bench." 

"Why,  papa,  the  stone  is  burning  hot,"  cried 
Madeleine. 

"  They  were  suffocating  higher  up,"  said  the  countess. 

"  Women  always  want  to  prove  they  are  right,"  said 
the  count,  turning  to  me. 

To  avoid  agreeing  or  disagreeing  with  him  by  word 
or  look  I  watched  Jacques,  who  complained  of  his 
throat.  His  mother  carried  him  away,  but  as  she  did 
so  she  heard  her  husband  say :  — 

"  When  they  have  brought  such  sickly  children  into 


64  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

the  world  they  ought  to   learn  how  to  take   care  of 
them." 

Words  that  were  cruelly  unjust ;  but  his  self-love 
drove  him  to  defend  himself  at  the  expense  of  his  wife. 
The  countess  hurried  up  the  steps  and  across  the 
portico,  and  I  saw  her  disappear  though  the  glass 
door.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  seated  himself  on  the 
bench,  his  head  bowed  down  in  gloomy  silence.  My 
position  became  annoying ;  he  neither  spoke  nor  looked 
at  me.  Farewell  to  the  walk  he  had  proposed,  in  the 
course  of  which  I  had  hoped  to  fathom  him.  I  hardly 
remember  a  more  unpleasant  moment.  Ought  I  to  go 
away,  or  should  I  not  go?  How  man}T  painful  thoughts 
must  have  arisen  in  his  mind,  to  make  him  forget  to 
follow  Jacques  and  learn  how  he  was !  At  last  how- 
ever he  rose  abruptly  and  came  towards  me.  We  both 
turned  and  looked  at  the  smiling  valley. 

"  We  will  put  off  our  walk  to  another  day,  Monsieur 
le  comte,"  I  said  gently. 

"  No,  let  us  go,"  he  replied.  "Unfortunately,  I 
am  accustomed  to  such  scenes  —  I,  who  would  give  my 
life  without  the  slightest  regret  to  save  that  of  the 
child." 

"Jacques  is  better,  m}r  dear;  he  has  gone  to  sleep," 
said  a  golden  voice.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  suddenly 
appeared  at  the  end  of  the  path.  She  came  forward, 
without  bitterness  or  ill-will,  and  bowed  to  me. 

"lam  glad  to  see  that  you  like  Clochegourde,"  she 
said. 

"  My  dear,  should  you  like  me  to  ride  over  and 
fetch  Monsieur  Deslandes?"  said  the  count,  as  if 
wishing  her  to  forgive  his  injustice. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  65 

"Don't  be  worried,"  she  said.  "Jacques  did  not 
sleep  last  night,  that 's  all.  The  child  is  very  nervous  ; 
he  had  a  bad  dream,  and  I  told  him  stories  all  night  to 
keep  him  quiet.  His  cough  is  purely  nervous ;  I  have 
stilled  it  with  a  lozenge,  and  he  has  gone  to  sleep." 

"Poor  woman  !  "  said  her  husband,  taking  her  hand 
in  his  and  giving  her  a  tearful  look,  "  I  knew  nothing 
of  it." 

"Why  should  you  be  troubled  when  there  is  no 
occasion?"  she  replied.  "Now  go  and  attend  to  the 
rye.  You  know  if  you  are  not  there  the  men  will  let 
the  gleaners  of  the  other  villages  get  into  the  field 
before  the  sheaves  are  carried  away." 

"  I  am  going  to  take  a  first  lesson  in  agriculture, 
madame,"  I  said  to  her. 

"You  have  a  very  good  master,"  she  replied, 
motioning  towards  the  count,  whose  mouth  screwed 
itself  into  that  smile  of  satisfaction  which  is  vulgarly 
termed  a  "  bouche  en  cceur." 

Two  months  later  I  learned  she  had  passed  that 
night  in  great  anxiety,  fearing  that  her  son  had  the 
croup  ;  while  I  in  the  boat,  rocked  by  thoughts  of  love, 
imagined  that  she  might  see  me  from  her  window 
adoring  the  gleam  of  the  candle  which  was  then 
lighting  a  forehead  furrowed  by  fears  !  The  croup  pre- 
vailed at  Tours,  and  was  often  fatal.  When  we  were 
outside  the  gate,  the  count  said  in  a  voice  of  emotion, 
"  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is  an  angel ! "  The  words 
staggered  me.  As  yet  I  knew  but  little  of  the  family, 
and  the  natural  conscience  of  a  young  soul  made  me 
exclaim  inwardly:  "  What  right  have  I  to  trouble  this 
perfect  peace  ?  " 

5 


66  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

Glad  to  find  a  listener  in  a  young  man  over  whom 
he  could  lord  it  so  easily,  the  count  talked  to  me  of  the 
future  which  the  return  of  the  Bourbons  would  secure 
to  France.  We  had  a  desultoiy  conversation,  in  which 
I  listened  to  much  childish  nonsense  which  positively 
amazed  me.  He  was  ignorant  of  facts  susceptible 
of  proof  that  might  be  called  geometric ;  he  feared 
persons  of  education ;  he  rejected  superiority,  and 
scoffed,  perhaps  with  some  reason,  at  progress.  I  dis- 
covered in  his  nature  a  number  of  sensitive  fibres 
which  it  required  the  utmost  caution  not  to  wound  ;  so 
that  a  conversation  with  him  of  an}T  length  was  a 
positive  strain  upon  the  mind.  When  I  had,  as  it 
were,  felt  of  his  defects,  I  conformed  to  them  with 
the  same  suppleness  his  wife  showed  in  soothing  him. 
Later  in  life  I  should  certainty  have  made  him  angry, 
but  now,  humble  as  a  child,  supposing  that  I  knew 
nothing  and  believing  that  men  in  their  prime  knew 
all,  I  was  genuinely  amazed  at  the  results  obtained  at 
Clochegourde  by  this  patient  agriculturist.  I  listened 
admiringly  to  his  plans  ;  and  with  an  involuntary  flat- 
tery which  won  his  good-will,  I  envied  him  the  estate 
and  its  outlook  —  a  terrestrial  paradise,  I  called  it,  far 
superior  to  Frapesle. 

"  Frapesle,"  I  said,  "  is  a  massive  piece  of  plate,  but 
Clochegourde  is  a  jewel-case  of  gems,"  —  a  speech 
which  he  often  quoted,  giving  credit  to  its  author. 

"Before  we  came  here,"  he  said,  "  it  was  desolation 
itself." 

I  was  all  ears  when  he  told  of  his  seed-fields  and 
nurseries.  New  to  country  life,  I  besieged  him  with 
questions  about  prices,  means  of  preparing  and  working 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  67 

the   soil,   etc.,  and  he   seemed  glad  to  answer  all  in 
detail. 

"  What  in  the  world  do  they  teach  you  in  your 
colleges  ? "  he  exclaimed  at  last  in  astonishment. 

On  this  first  day  the  count  said  to  his  wife  when  he 
reached  home,  "Monsieur  Felix  is  a  charming  young 
man." 

That  evening  I  wrote  to  my  mother  and  asked  her  to 
send  my  clothes  and  linen,  saying  that  I  should  re- 
main at  Frapesle.  Ignorant  of  the  great  revolution 
which  was  just  about  taking  place,  and  not  perceiving 
the  influence  it  was  to  have  upon  my  fate,  I  expected 
to  return  to  Paris  to  resume  my  legal  studies.  The  Law 
School  did  not  open  till  the  first  week  in  November; 
meantime  I  had  two  months  and  a  half  before  me. 

The  first  part  of  my  sta}T,  while  I  studied  to  under- 
stand the  count,  was  a  period  of  painful  impressions  to 
me.  I  found  him  a  man  of  extreme  irascibility  without 
adequate  cause  ;  hasty  in  action  in  hazardous  cases  to  a 
degree  that  alarmed  me.  Sometimes  he  showed  glimpses 
of  the  brave  gentleman  of  Conde's  army,  parabolic 
flashes  of  will  such  as  may,  in  times  of  emergency, 
tear  through  politics  like  bomb-shells,  and  may  also, 
by  virtue  of  honesty  and  courage,  make  a  man  con- 
demned to  live  buried  on  his  property  an  Elbee,  a 
Bonchamp,  or  a  Charette.  In  presence  of  certain  ideas 
his  nostril  contracted,  his  forehead  cleared,  and  his 
eyes  shot  lightnings,  which  were  soon  quenched.  Some- 
times I  feared  he  might  detect  the  language  of  my 
eyes  and  kill  me.  I  was  young  then  and  merely  tender. 
Will,  that  force  that  alters  men  so  strangely,  had 
scarcely    dawned   within   me.     My  passionate  desires 


68  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

shook  me  with  an  emotion  that  was  like  the  throes  of 
fear.  Death  I  feared  not,  but  I  would  not  die  until  I 
knew  the  happiness  of  mutual  love —  But  how  tell  of 
what  I  felt !  I  was  a  prey  to  perplexity  ;  I  hoped  for 
some  fortunate  chance  ;  I  watched  ;  I  made  the  children 
love  me  ;  I  tried  to  identify  myself  with  the  family. 

Little  by  little  the  count  restrained  himself  less  in  my 
presence.  I  came  to  know  his  sudden  outbreaks  of 
temper,  his  deep  and  causeless  melancholy,  his  flashes 
of  brutalit}',  his  bitter,  cutting  complaints,  his  cold 
hatreds,  his  impulses  of  latent  madness,  his  childish 
moans,  his  cries  of  a  man's  despair,  his  unexpected 
fury.  The  moral  nature  differs  from  the  physical  na- 
ture inasmuch  as  nothing  is  absolute  in  it.  The  force 
of  effects  is  in  direct  proportion  to  the  characters  or  the 
ideas  which  are  grouped  around  some  fact.  My  position 
at  Clochegourde,  my  future  life,  depended  on  this  one 
eccentric  will. 

I  cannot  describe  to  30U  the  distress  that  filled  my 
soul  (as  quick  in  those  days  to  expand  as  to  contract), 
whenever  I  entered  Clochegourde  and  asked  myself, 
44  How  will  he  receive  me?"  With  what  anxiety  of 
heart  I  saw  the  clouds  collecting  on  that  stormy  brow. 
I  lived  in  a  perpetual  qui-vive.  I  fell  under  the  domin- 
ion of  that  man  ;  and  the  sufferings  I  endured  taught 
me  to  understand  those  of  Madame  de  Mortsauf.  We 
began  by  exchanging  looks  of  comprehension  ;  tried  by 
the  same  fire,  how  many  discoveries  I  made  during  those 
first  forty  days  !  —  of  actual  bitterness,  of  tacit  joys,  of 
hopes  alternately  submerged  and  buoyant.  One  even- 
ing I  found  her  pensively  watching  a  sunset  which  red- 
dened the  summits  with  so  ravishing  a  glow  that  it  was 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  69 

impossible  not  to  listen  to  that  voice  of  the  eternal  Song 
of  Songs  by  which  Nature  herself  bids  all  her  creatures 
love.  Did  the  lost  illusions  of  her  girlhood  return  to 
her?  Did  the  woman  suffer  from  an  inward  compari- 
son? I  fancied  I  perceived  a  desolation  in  her  attitude 
that  was  favorable  to  my  first  appeal,  and  I  said,  "Some 
days  are  hard  to  bear." 

"  You  read  my  soul,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  how  have 
you  done  so?  " 

"  We  touch  at  many  points,"  I  replied.  "  Surely  we 
belong  to  the  small  number  of  human  beings  born  to  the 
highest  joys  and  the  deepest  sorrows ;  whose  feeling 
qualities  vibrate  in  unison  and  echo  each  other  in- 
wardly ;  whose  sensitive  natures  are  in  harmon}-  with 
the  principle  of  things.  Put  such  beings  among  sur- 
roundings where  all  is  discord  and  they  suffer  horribly, 
just  as  their  happiness  mounts  to  exaltation  when  they 
meet  ideas,  or  feelings,  or  other  beings  who  are  con- 
genial to  them.  But  there  is  still  a  third  condition, 
where  sorrows  are  known  only  to  souls  affected  by  the 
same  distress ;  in  this  alone  is  the  highest  fraternal 
comprehension.  It  may  happen  that  such  souls  find  no 
outlet  either  for  good  or  evil.  Then  the  organ  within  us 
endowed  with  expression  and  motion  is  exercised  in 
a  void,  expends  its  passion  without  an  object,  utters 
sounds  without  melody,  and  cries  that  are  lost  in  soli- 
tude, —  terrible  defeat  of  a  soul  which  revolts  against 
the  inutility  of  nothingness.  These  are  struggles  in 
which  our  strength  oozes  away  without  restraint,  as 
blood  from  an  inward  wound.  The  sensibilities  flow  to 
waste  and  the  result  is  a  horrible  weakening  of  the  soul, 
an  indescribable  melancholy  for  which  the  confessional 


70  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

itself  has  no  ears.  Have  I  not  expressed  our  mutual 
sufferings  ?  " 

She  shuddered,  and  then  without  removing  her  eyes 
from  the  setting  sun,  she  said,  "  How  is  it  that,  young 
as  you  are,  you  know  these  things?  Were  you  once  a 
woman?" 

"Ah!"  I  replied,  "my  childhood  was  like  a  long 
illness  — " 

"  I  hear  Madeleine  coughing,"  she  cried,  leaving  me 
abruptly. 

The  countess  showed  no  displeasure  at  nry  constant 
visits,  and  for  two  reasons.  In  the  first  place  she  was 
pure  as  a  Child,  and  her  thoughts  wandered  into  no  for- 
bidden regions ;  in  the  next  I  amused  the  count  and 
made  a  sop  for  that  lion  without  claws  or  mane.  I 
found  an  excuse  for  my  visits  which  seemed  plausible 
to  every  one.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  proposed  to  teach 
me  backgammon,  and  I  accepted ;  as  I  did  so  the  coun- 
tess was  betrayed  into  a  look  of  compassion,  which 
seemed  to  say,  "  You  are  flinging  yourself  into  the 
jaws  of  the  lion."  If  I  did  not  understand  this  at  the 
time,  three  days  had  not  passed  before  I  knew  what  I 
had  undertaken.  M}T  patience,  which  nothing  exhausts, 
the  fruit  of  my  miserable  childhood,  ripened  under  this 
last  trial.  The  count  was  delighted  when  he  could  jeer 
at  me  for  not  putting  in  practice  the  principles  or  the 
rules  he  had  explained ;  if  I  reflected  before  I  played 
he  complained  of  my  slowness ;  if  I  played  fast  he  was 
angry  because  I  hurried  him ;  if  I  forgot  to  mark  my 
points  he  declared,  making  his  profit  out  of  the  mistake, 
that  I  was  always  too  rapid.  It  was  like  the  tyranny 
of  a  schoolmaster,  the  despotism  of  the  rod,  of  which  I 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  71 

can  really  give  you  no  idea  unless  I  compare  myself 
to  Epictetns  under  the  yoke  of  a  malicious  child.  When 
we  played  for  money  his  winnings  gave  him  the  meanest 
and  most  abject  delight. 

A  word  from  his  wife  was  enough  to  console  me,  and 
it  frequently  recalled  him  to  a  sense  of  politeness  and 
good-breeding.  But  before  long  I  fell  into  the  furnace 
of  an  unexpected  misery.  My  money  was  disappear- 
ing under  these  losses.  Though  the  count  was  always 
present  during  my  visits  until  I  left  the  house,  which 
was  sometimes  very  late,  I  cherished  the  hope  of  find- 
ing some  moment  when  I  might  say  a  word  that  would 
reach  my  idol's  heart ;  but  to  obtain  that  moment,  for 
which  I  watched  and  waited  with  a  hunter's  painful 
patience,  I  was  forced  to  continue  these  weary  games, 
during  which  my  feelings  were  lacerated  and  my  money 
lost.  Still,  there  were  moments  when  we  were  silent, 
she  and  I,  looking  at  the  sunlight  on  the  meadows,  the 
clouds  in  a  gray  sk}r,  the  misty  hills,  or  the  quivering 
of  the  moon  on  the  sandbanks  of  the  river ;  saying 
only,   "  Night  is  beautiful!" 

44  Night  is  woman,  madame." 

"  What  tranquillity!" 

11  Yes,  no  one  can  be  absolutely  wretched  here." 

Then  she  would  return  to  her  embroidery  frame.  I 
came  at  last  to  hear  the  inward  beatings  of  an  affection 
which  sought  its  object.  But  the  fact  remained  —  with- 
out money,  farewell  to  these  evenings.  I  wrote  to  my 
mother  to  send  me  some.  She  scolded  me  and  sent 
only  enough  to  last  a  week.  Where  could  I  get  more  ? 
My  life  depended  on  it.  Thus  it  happened  that  in  the 
dawn   of  my  first  great  happiness   I   found   the  same 


72  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

sufferings  that  assailed  me  elsewhere ;  but  in  Paris,  at 
college,  at  school  I  evaded  them  by  abstinence ;  there 
my  privations  were  negative,  at  Frapesle  they  were 
active  ;  so  active  that  I  was  possessed  by  the  impulse  to 
theft,  by  visions  of  crime,,  furious  desperations  which 
rend  the  soul  and  must  be  subdued  under  pain  of  losing 
our  self-respect.  The  memory  of  what  I  suffered 
through  m3r  mother's  parsimony  taught  me  that  indul- 
gence for  3'oung  men  which  one  who  has  stood  upon 
the  brink  of  the  abyss  and  measured  its  depths,  without 
falling  into  them,  must  inevitably  feel.  Though  my 
own  rectitude  was  strengthened  b}r  those  moments 
when  life  opened  and  let  me  see  the  rocks  and  quick- 
sands beneath  the  surface,  I  have  never  known  that 
terrible  thing  called  human  justice  draw  its  blade 
through  the  throat  of  a  criminal  without  saying  to  my- 
self: "Penal  laws  are  made  by  men  who  have  never 
known  misery." 

At  this  crisis  I  happened  to  find  a  treatise  on  back- 
gammon in  Monsieur  de  Chessel's  libranr,  and  I  studied 
it.  My  host  was  kind  enough  to  give  me  a  few  lessons  ; 
less  harshly  taught  than  by  the  count  I  made  good  pro- 
gress and  applied  the  rules  and  calculations  I  knew  by 
heart.  Within  a  few  days  I  was  able  to  beat  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf ;  but  no  sooner  had  I  done  so  and  won  his 
money  for  the  first  time  than  his  temper  became 
intolerable  ;  his  eyes  glittered  like  those  of  tigers,  his 
face  shrivelled,  his  brows  knit  as  I  never  saw  brows 
knit  before  or  since.  His  complainings  were  those  of 
a  fretful  child.  Sometimes  he  flung  down  the  dice, 
quivered  with  rage,  bit  the  dice-box,  and  said  insulting 
things  to  me.     Such  violence,  however,  came  to  an  end. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  73 

When  I  bad  acquired  enough  mastery  of  the  game  I 
played  it  to  suit  me;  I  so  managed  that  we  were 
nearly  equal  up  to  the  last  moment ;  I  allowed  him  to 
win  the  first  half  and  made  matters  even  during  the  last 
half.  The  end  of  the  world  would  have  surprised  him 
less  than  the  rapid  superiority  of  his  pupil ;  but  he 
never  admitted  it.  The  unvarying  result  of  our  games 
was  a  topic  of  discourse  on  which  he  fastened. 

"My  poor  head,"  he  would  sajr,  "  is  fatigued;  you 
manage  to  win  the  last  of  the  game  because  by  that 
time  I  lose  my  skill." 

The  countess,  who  knew  backgammon,  understood  my 
manoeuvres  from  the  first,  and  gave  me  those  mute  thanks 
which  swell  the  heart  of  a  young  man ;  she  granted  me 
the  same  look  she  gave  to  her  children.  From  that 
ever-blessed  evening  she  alwaj's  looked  at  me  when  she 
spoke.  I  cannot  explain  to  you  the  condition  I  was  in 
when  I  left  her.  My  soul  had  annihilated  m}r  bod}7 ;  it 
weighed  nothing ;  I  did  not  walk,  I  flew.  That  look 
I  carried  within  me  ;  it  bathed  me  with  light  just  as  her 
last  words,  "  Adieu,  monsieur,"  still  sounded  in  my  soul 
with  the  harmonies  of  Ofilii,  6  filioe,  in  the  paschal  choir. 
I  was  born  into  a  new  life,  I  was  something  to  her !  I 
slept  on  purple  and  fine  linen.  Flames  darted  before  my 
closed  eyelids,  chasing  each  other  in  the  darkness  like 
threads  of  fire  in  the  ashes  of  burned  paper.  In  my 
dreams  her  voice  became,  though  I  cannot  describe  it, 
palpable,  an  atmosphere  of  light  and  fragrance  wrapping 
me,  a  melody  enfolding  my  spirit.  On  the  morrow  her 
greeting  expressed  the  fulness  of  feelings  that  remained 
un uttered,  and  from  that  moment  I  was  initiated  into 
the  secrets  of  her  voice. 


74  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

That  day  was  to  be  one  of  the  most  decisive  of  my 
life.  After  dinner  we  walked  on  the  heights  across  a 
barren  plain  where  no  herbage  grew  ;  the  ground  was 
stony,  arid,  and  without  vegetable  soil  of  any  kind  ; 
nevertheless  a  few  scrub  oaks  and  thorn}'  bushes 
straggled  there,  and  in  place  of  grass,  a  carpet  of 
crimped  mosses,  illuminated  by  the  setting  sun  and  so 
dry  that  our  feet  slipped  upon  it.  I  held  Madeleine  by 
the  hand  to  keep  her  up.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  was 
leading  Jacques.  The  count,  who  was  in  front,  sud- 
denly turned  round  and  striking  the  earth  with  his 
cane  said  to  me  in  a  dreadful  tone  :  "  Such  is  my  life  ! 
—  but  before  I  knew  you,"  lie  added  with  a  look  of 
penitence  at  his  wife.  The  reparation  was  tardy,  for 
the  countess  had  turned  pale  ;  what  woman  would  not 
have  staggered  as  she  did  under  the  blow  ? 

"  But  what  delightful  scents  arc  wafted  here,  and 
what  a  view  of  the  sunset !  "  I  cried.  "  For  my  part  I 
should  like  to  own  this  barren  moor  ;  I  fancy  there  ma}' 
be  treasures  if  we  dig  for  them.  But  its  greatest  wealth 
is  that  of  being  near  you.  Who  would  not  pay  a  great 
price  for  such  a  view  ?  —  all  harmony  to  the  eye,  with  that 
winding  river  where  the  soul  ma)'  bathe  among  the  ash- 
trees  and  the  alders.  See  the  difference  of  taste  !  To 
you  this  spot  of  earth  is  a  barren  waste  ;  to  me,  it  is 
paradise." 

She  thanked  me  with  a  look. 

"Bucolics!"  exclaimed  the  count,  with  bitter  look. 
"  This  is  no  life  for  a  man  who  bears  your  name." 
Then  he  suddenly  changed  his  tone  —  "The  bells!" 
he  cried,  "  don't  you  hear  the  bells  of  Azay?  I  hear 
them  ringing." 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  75 

"  Madame  de  Mortsauf  gave  me  a  frightened  look. 
Madeleine  clung  to  m}r  hand." 

u  Suppose  we  plajT  a  game  of  backgammon?"  I  said. 
"Let  us  go  back;  the  rattle  of  dice  will  drown  the 
sound  of  the  bells." 

We  returned  to  Clochegourde,  conversing  03-  fits  and 
starts.  Once  in  the  salon  an  indefinable  uncertainty 
and  dread  took  possession  of  us.  The  count  flung 
himself  into  an  armchair,  absorbed  in  revery,  which  his 
wife,  who  knew  the  symptoms  of  his  malady  and  could 
foresee  an  outbreak,  was  careful  not  to  interrupt.  I 
also  kept  silence.  As  she  gave  me  no  hint  to  leave, 
perhaps  she  thought  backgammon  might  divert  the 
count's  mind  and  quiet  those  fatal  nervous  suscep- 
tibilities, the  excitements  of  wiiich  were  killing  him. 
Nothing  was  ever  harder  than  to  make  him  play  that 
game,  which,  however,  he  had  a  great  desire  to  play. 
Like  a  pretty  woman,  he  always  required  to  be  coaxed, 
entreated,  forced,  so  that  he  might  not  seem  the  obliged 
person.  If  b}'  chance,  being  interested  in  the  conver- 
sation, I  forgot  to  propose  it,  he  grew  sulk};,  bitter,  in- 
sulting, and  spoiled  the  talk  by  contradicting  eveiy- 
thing.  If,  warned  by  his  ill-humor,  I  suggested  a  game, 
he  would  dally  and  demur.  "  In  the  first  place,  it  is  too 
late,"  he  would  say ;  "besides,  I  don't  care  for  it." 
Then  followed  a  series  of  affectations  like  those  of 
women,  which  often  leave  you  in  ignorance  of  their 
real  wishes. 

On  this  occasion  I  pretended  a  wild  gayet}'  to  induce 
him  to  play.  He  complained  of  giddiness  which  hin- 
dered him  from  calculating ;  his  brain,  he  said,  was 
squeezed  into  a  vice  ;  he  heard  noises,  he  was  choking  ; 


76  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

and  thereupon  he  sighed  heavity.  At  last,  however,  he 
consented  to  the  game.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  left  us 
to  put  the  children  to  bed  and  lead  the  household  in 
family  pra}*ers.  All  went  well  during  her  absence ;  I 
allowed  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  to  win,  and  his  delight 
seemed  to  put  him  beside  himself.  This  sudden  change 
from  a  gloom  that  led  him  to  make  the  darkest  predic- 
tions to  the  wild  joy  of  a  drunken  man,  expressed  in  a 
crazy  laugh  and  without  an}-  adequate  motive,  distressed 
and  alarmed  me.  I  had  never  seen  him  in  quite  so 
marked  a  paroxysm.  Our  intimacy  had  borne  fruits  in 
the  fact  that  he  no  longer  restrained  himself  before  me. 
Day  by  da}r  he  had  endeavored  to  bring  me  under  his 
tyranny,  and  obtain  fresh  food,  as  it  were,  for  his  evil 
temper ;  for  it  really  seems  as  though  moral  diseases 
were  creatures  with  appetites  and  instincts,  seeking  to 
enlarge  the  boundaries  of  their  empire  as  a  landowner 
seeks  to  increase  his  domain. 

Presently  the  countess  came  down,  and  sat  close  to 
the  backgammon  table,  apparently  for  better  light  on 
her  embroidery,  though  the  anxiety  which  led  her  to 
place  her  frame  was  ill-concealed.  A  piece  of  fatal 
ill-luck  which  I  could  not  prevent  changed  the  count's 
face ;  from  gayety  it  fell  to  gloom,  from  purple  it  be- 
came yellow,  and  his  eyes  rolled.  Then  followed  worse 
ill-luck,  which  I  could  neither  avert  nor  repair.  Mon- 
sieur de  Mortsauf  made  a  fatal  throw  which  decided  the 
game.  Instantly  he  sprang  up,  flung  the  table  at  me 
and  the  lamp  on  the  floor,  struck  the  chimney-piece 
with  his  fist  and  jumped,  for  T  cannot  say  he  walked, 
about  the  room.  The  torrent  of  insults,  imprecations, 
and  incoherent  words  which  rushed  from  his  lips  would 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.     '  77 

have  made  an  observer  think  of  the  old  tales  of  satanic 
possession  in  the  Middle  Ages.     Imagine  m}r  position  ! 

"  Go  into  the  garden,"  said  the  countess,  pressing 
in}'  hand. 

I  left  the  room  before  the  count  could  notice  my  disT 
appearance.  On  the  terrace,  where  I  slowly  walked 
about,  I  heard  his  shouts  and  then  his  moans  from  the 
bedroom  which  adjoined  the  dining-room.  Also  I  heard 
at  intervals  through  that  tempest  of  sound  the  voice 
of  an  angel,  which  rose  like  the  song  of  a  nightingale 
as  the  rain  ceases.  I  walked  about  under  the  acacias  in 
the  loveliest  night  of  the  month  of  August,  waiting  for 
the  countess  to  join  me.  I  knew  she  wrould  come  ;  her 
gesture  promised  it.  For  several  days  an  explanation 
had  seemed  to  float  between  us ;  a  word  would  suffice 
to  send  it  gushing  from  the  spring,  overfull,  in 'our 
souls.  What  timidity  had  thus  far  dela3Ted  a  perfect 
understanding  between  us?  Perhaps  she  loved,  as  I 
did,  these  quiverings  of  the  spirit  which  resembled 
emotions  of  fear  and  numbed  the  sensibilities  while  we 
held  our  life  unuttered  within  us,  hesitating  to  unveil 
its  secrets  with  the  modesty  of  the  young  girl  before 
the  husband  she  loves.  An  hour  passed.  I  was  sitting 
on  the  brick  balustrade  when  the  sound  of  her  footsteps 
blending  with  the  undulating  ripple  of  her  flowing  gown 
stirred  the  calm  air  of  night.  These  are  sensations  to 
which  the  heart  suffices  not. 

u  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  is  sleeping,"  she  said. 
"  When  he  is  thus  I  give  him  an  infusion  of  poppies, 
a  cup  of  water  in  which  a  few  poppies  have  been 
steeped ;  the  attacks  are  so  infrequent  that  this  simple 
remedy  never  loses  its  effect —     Monsieur,"  she  con- 


78  '      The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

tinued,  changing  her  tone  and  using  the  most  per- 
suasive inflexion  of  her  voice,  "  this  most  unfortunate 
accident  has  revealed  to  you  a  secret  which  has  hitherto 
been  sedulously  kept ;  promise  me  to  bury  the  recol- 
lection of  that  scene.  Do  this  for  my  sake,  I  beg  of 
you.  I  don't  ask  you  to  swear  it ;  give  me  your  word 
of  honor  and  I  shall  be  content." 

"Need  I  give  it  to  you?  "I  said.  "Do  we  not 
understand  each  other?" 

u  You  must  not  judge  unfavorably  of  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf;  3*011  see  the  effects  of  his  many  sufferings 
under  the  emigration,"  she  went  on.  "To-morrow  he 
will  entirely  forget  all  that  he  has  said  and  done  ;  3'ou 
will  find  him  kind  and  excellent  as  ever." 

"  Do  not  seek  to  excuse  him,  madame,"  I  replied. 
"I  will  do  all  you  wish.  I  would  fling  myself  into  the 
Indre  at  this  moment  if  I  could  restore  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  s  health  and  insure  you  a  happy  life.  The 
only  thing  I  cannot  change  is  my  opinion.  I  can  give 
you  m}'  life,  but  not  my  convictions ;  I  can  pay  no 
heed  to  what  he  sa3's,  but  can  I  hinder  him  from 
saying  it?  No,  in  my  opinion  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
is  —  " 

"  I  understand  3*ou,"  she  said,  hastily  interrupting 
me;  "you  are  right.  The  count  is  as  nervous  as  a 
fashionable  woman,"  she  added,  as  if  to  conceal  the 
idea  of  madness  03-  softening  the  word.  "  But  he  is 
only  so  at  intervals,  once  a  3*ear,  when  the  weather  is 
very  hot.  Ah,  what  evils  have  resulted  from  the 
emigration  !  How  man3'  fine  lives  ruined  !  He  would 
have  been,  I  am  sure  of  it,  a  great  soldier,  an  honor  to 
his  country  —  " 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  79 

"  I  know,"  I  said,  interrupting  in  my  turn  to  let  her 
see  that  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  deceive  me. 

She  stopped,  laid  one  hand  lightly  on  my  brow,  and 
looked  at  me.  "  Who  has  sent  you  here,"  she  said, 
"into  this  home?  Has  God  sent  me  help,  a  true 
friendship  to  support  me  ?  "  She  paused,  then  added,  as 
she  laid  her  hand  firmly  upon  mine,  "  For  you  are  good 
and  generous  —  "  She  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  as  if 
to  invoke  some  visible  testimony  to  confirm  her  thought, 
and  then  let  them  rest  upon  me.  Electrified  by  the 
look,  which  cast  a  soul  into  m}-  soul,  I  was  guilty, 
judging  by  social  laws,  of  a  want  of  tact,  though  in 
certain  natures  such  indelicacy  really  means  a  brave 
desire  to  meet  a  danger,  to  avert  a  blow,  to  arrest  an 
evil  before  it  happens  ;  oftener  still,  an  abrupt  call  upon 
a  heart,  a  blow  given  to  learn  if  it  resounds  in  unison 
with  ours.  Many  thoughts  rose  like  gleams  within  my 
mind  and  bade  me  wash  out  the  stain  that  blotted  my 
conscience  at  this  moment  when  I  was  seeking  a  com- 
plete understanding. 

"Before  we  say  more,"  I  said  in  a  voice  shaken  by 
the  throbbings  of  1113*  heart,  which  could  be  heard  in  the 
deep  silence  that  surrounded  us,  "  suffer  me  to  purify 
one  memory  of  the  past." 

"Hush!"  she  said  quickl}-,  touching  my  lips  with  a 
finger  which  she  instantly  removed.  She  looked  at  me 
haughtily,  with  the  glance  of  a  woman  who  knows  herself 
too  exalted  for  insult  to  reach  her.  "  Be  silent ;  I 
know  of  what  you  are  about  to  speak,  —  the  first,  the 
last,  the  only  outrage  ever  offeTed  to  me.  Never  speak 
to  me  of  that  ball.  If  as  a  Christian  I  have  forgiven 
3'ou,  as  a  woman  I  still  suffer  from  your  act." 


80  The  Lily  of  the    Valley, 

"You  are  more  pitiless  than  God  himself,"  I  said, 
forcing  back  the  tears  that  came  into  my  eyes. 

"  I  ought  to  be  so,  I  am  more  feeble,"  she  replied. 

"  But,"  I  continued  with  the  persistence  of  a  child, 
"  listen  to  me  now  if  only  for  the  first,  the  last,  the 
only  time  in  your  life." 

"  Speak,  then,"  she  said  ;  "  speak,  or  you  will  think 
I  dare  not  hear  }'ou." 

Feeling  that  this  was  the  turning  moment  of  our 
lives,  I  spoke  to  her  in  the  tone  that  commands  at- 
tention ;  I  told  her  that  all  women  whom  I  had  ever 
seen  were  nothing  to  me  ;  but  when  I  met  her,  I,  whose 
life  was  studious,  whose  nature  was  not  bold,  I  had  been, 
as  it  were,  possessed  by  a  frenzy  that  no  one  who  once 
felt  it  could  condemn  ;  that  never  heart  of  man  had 
been  so  filled  with  the  passion  which  no  being  can 
resist,  which  conquers  all  things,  even  death  — 

"And  contempt?"  she  asked,  stopping  me. 

"  Did  you  despise  me?"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Let  us  say  no  more  on  this  subject,"  she  replied. 

"  No,  let  me  say  all !  "  I  replied,  in  the  excitement  of 
my  intolerable  pain.  "  It  concerns  my  life,  my  whole 
being,  my  inward  self;  it  contains  a  secret  you  must 
know  or  I  must  die  in  despair.  It  also  concerns  you, 
who,  unawares,  are  the  lady  in  whose  hand  is  the  crown 
promised  to  the  victor  in  the  tournament?" 

Then  I  related  to  her  my  childhood  and  }'Outh,  not 
as  I  have  told  it  to  3*011,  judged  from  a  distance,  but  in 
the  language  of  a  young  man  whose  wounds  are  still 
bleeding.  M37  voice  was  like  the  axe  of  a  woodsman  in 
the  forest.  At  even*  word  the  dead  years  fell  with 
echoing  sound,  bristling  with  their  anguish  like  branches 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  81 

robbed  of  their  foliage.  I  described  to  her  in  feverish 
language  many  cruel  details  which  I  have  here  spared 
you.  I  spread  before  her  the  treasure  of  my  radiant 
hopes,  the  virgin  gold  of  my  desires,  the  whole  of 
a  burning  heart  kept  alive  beneath  the  snow  of  these 
Alps,  piled  higher  and  higher  by  perpetual  winter. 
When,  bowed  down  by  the  weight  of  these  remembered 
sufferings,  related  as  with  the  live  coal  of  Isaiah,  I 
awaited  the  reply  of  the  woman  who  listened  with  a 
bowed  head,  she  illumined  the  darkness  with  a  look, 
she  quickened  the  worlds  terrestrial  and  divine  with 
a  single  sentence. 

ik  We  have  had  the  same  childhood ! "  she  said, 
turning  to  me  a  face  on  which  the  halo  of  the  martyrs 
shone. 

After  a  pause,  in  which  our  souls  were  wedded  in 
the  one  consoling  thought,  "  I  am  not  alone  in  suffer- 
ing," the  countess  told  me,  in  the  voice  she  kept  for  her 
little  ones,  how  unwelcome  she  was  as  a  girl  when  sons 
were  wanted.  She  showed  me  how  her  troubles  as  a 
daughter  bound  to  her  mother's  side  differed  from  those 
of  a  boy  cast  out  upon  the  world  of  school  and  college 
life.  M}r  desolate  neglect  seemed  to  me  a  paradise 
compared  to  that  contact  with  a  millstone  under  which 
her  soul  was  ground  until  the  day  when  her  good  aunt, 
her  true  mother,  had  saved  her  from  this  misery,  the 
ever-recurring  pain  of  which  she  now  related  to  me ; 
misery  caused  sometimes  by  incessant  faultfinding, 
alwavs  intolerable  to  high-strung  natures  which  do  not 
shrink  before  death  itself  but  die  beneath  the  sword  of 
Damocles ;  sometimes  by  the  crushing  of  generous 
impulses  beneath  an  icy  hand,  by  the  cold  rebuffal  of 

6 


82  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

her  kisses,  by  a  stem  command  of  silence,  first  im- 
posed and  then  as  often  blamed  ;  by  inward  tears  that 
dared  not  flow  but  stayed  within  the  heart ;  in  short,  by 
all  the  bitterness  and  tyranny  of  convent  rule,  hidden  to 
the  eyes  of  the  world  under  the  appearance  of  an  ex- 
alted motherly  devotion.  She  gratified  her  mother's 
Vanity  before  strangers,  but  she  dearly  paid  in  private 
for  this  homage.  When,  believing  that  b}~  obedience 
and  gentleness  she  had  softened  her  mother's  heart, 
she  opened  hers,  the  tyrant  only  armed  herself  with  the 
girl's  confidence.  No  spy  was  ever  more  traitorous  and 
base.  All  the  pleasures  of  girlhood,  even  her  fete  days, 
were  dearty  purchased,  for  she  was  scolded  for  her 
gayety  as  much  as  for  her  faults.  No  teaching  and  no 
training  for  her  position  had  been  given  in  love,  always 
with  sarcastic  iron}*.  She  was  not  angry  against  her 
mother ;  in  fact  she  blamed  herself  for  feeling  more 
terror  than  love  for  her.  -'Perhaps,"  she  said,  dear 
angel,  "these  severities  were  needful;  they  had  cer- 
tainly prepared  her  for  her  present  life."  As  I  listened 
it  seemed  to  me  that  the  harp  of  Job,  from  which  I  had 
drawn  such  savage  sounds,  now  touched  by  Christian 
fingers  gave  forth  the  litanies  of  the  Virgin  at  the  foot 
of  the  cross. 

"  We  lived  in  the  same  sphere  before  we  met  in  this," 
I  said ;   "  you  coming  from  the  east,  I  from  the  west." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"To  you  the  east,  to  me  the  west,"  she  replied. 
"  You  will  live  happ}*,  I  must  die  of  pain.  Life  is  what 
we  make  of  it,  and  mine  is  made  forever.  No  power 
can  break  the  heavy  chain  to  which  a  woman  is  fastened 
by  this  ring  of  gold  —  the  emblem  of  a  wife's  purity." 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  83 

We  knew  we  were  twins  of  one  womb ;  she  never 
dreamed  of  a  half-confidence  between  brothers  of  the 
same  blood.  After  a  short  sigh,  natural  to  pure  hearts 
when  the}'  first  open  to  each  other,  she  told  me  of  her 
first  married  life,  her  deceptions  and  disillusions,  the 
rebirth  of  her  childhood's  misery.  Like  me,  she  had 
suffered  under  trifles  ;  mighty  to  souls  whose  limpid 
substance  quivers  to  the  least  shock,  as  a  lake  quivers 
on  the  surface  and  to  its  utmost  depth  when  a  stone  is 
flung  into  it.  When  she  married  she  possessed  some 
girlish  savings  ;  a  little  gold,  the  fruit  of  happy  hours 
and  repressed  fancies.  These,  in  a  moment  when  they 
'were  needed,  she  gave  to  her  husband,  not  telling  him 
they  were  gifts  and  savings  of  her  own.  He  took  no 
account  of  them,  and  never  regarded  himself  her 
debtor.  She  did  not  even  obtain  the  glance  of  thanks 
that  would  have  paid  for  all.  Ah  !  how  she  went  from 
trial  to  trial !  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  habitually  neg- 
lected to  give  her  the  money  for  the  household.  When, 
after  a  struggle  with  her  timidit}',  she  asked  him  for  it, 
he  seemed  surprised  and  never  once  spared  her  the 
mortification  of  petitioning  for  necessities.  What  terror 
filled  her  mind  when  the  real  nature  of  the  ruined  man's 
disease  was  revealed  to  her,  and  she  quailed  under  the 
first  outbreak  of  his  mad  anger  !  What  bitter  reflections 
she  had  made  before  she  brought  herself  to  admit  that 
her  husband  w^as  a  wreck  !  What  horrible  calamities 
had  come  of  her  bearing  children  !  What  anguish  she 
felt  at  the  sight  of  those  infants  born  almost  dead ! 
With  what  courage  had  she  said  in  her  heart:  "  I  will 
breathe  the  breath  of  life  into  them ;  I  will  bear  them 
anew  day  by  day !  "      Then  conceive  the  bitterness  of 


84  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

finding  her  greatest  obstacle  in  the  heart  and  hand  from 
which  a  wife  should  draw  her  greatest  succor  !  She  saw 
the  untold  disaster  that  threatened  him.  As  each  diffi- 
culty was  conquered,  new  deserts  opened  before  her, 
until  the  day  when  she  thoroughly  understood  her 
husband's  condition,  the  constitution  of  her  children, 
and  the  character  of  the  neighborhood  in  which  she 
lived  ;  a  day  when  (like  the  child  taken  by  Napoleon  from 
a  tender  home)  she  taught  her  feet  to  tramp  through 
mud  and  snow,  she  trained  her  nerves  to  bullets  and  all 
her  being  to  the  passive  obedience  of  a  soldier. 

These  things,  of  which  I  here  make  a  suinmaiy,  she 
told  me  in  all  their  dark  extent,  with  every  piteous 
detail  of  conjugal  battles  lost  and  fruitless  struggles. 

"  You  would  have  to  live  here  man}7  months/'  she  said, 
in  conclusion,  "to  understand  what  difficulties  I  have 
met  with  in  improving  Clochegourde ;  what  persuasions 
I  have  had  to  use  to  make  him  do  a  thing  which  was 
most  important  to  his  interests.  You  cannot  imagine 
the  childish  glee  he  has  shown  when  anything  that  I 
advised  was  not  at  once  successful.  All  that  turned 
out  well  he  claimed  for  himself.  Yes,  I  need  an  infinite 
patience  to  bear  his  complaints  when  I  am  half- 
exhausted  in  the  effort  to  amuse  his  weary  hours, 
to  sweeten  his  life  and  smooth  the  paths  which  he  him- 
self has  strewn  with  stones.  The  reward  he  gives  me 
is  that  awful  cry :  •  Let  me  die,  life  is  a  burden  to 
me ! '  When  visitors  are  here  and  he  enjoys  them,  he 
forgets  his  gloom  and  is  courteous  and  polite.  You 
ask  me  why  he  cannot  be  so  to  his  family.  I  cannot 
explain  that  want  of  loyalty  in  a  man  who  is  truly 
chivalrous.     He  is  quite  capable  of  riding  at  full  speed 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  85 

to  Paris  to  buy  me  a  set  of  ornaments,  as  he  did  the 
other  day  before  the  ball.  Miserly  in  his  household, 
he  would  be  lavish  upon  me  if  I  wished  it.  I  would 
it  were  reversed ;  I  need  nothing  for  myself,  but  the 
wants  of  the  household  are  many.  In  my  strong  desire 
to  make  him  happy,  and  not  reflecting  that  I  might 
be  a  mother,  I  began  my  married  life  by  letting  him 
treat  me  as  a  victim,  I,  who  at  that  time  by  using  a 
few  caresses  could  have  led  him  like  a  child  —  but  I 
was  unable  to  play  a  part  I  should  have  thought  dis- 
graceful. Now,  however,  the  welfare  of  the  family 
requires  me  to  be  as  calm  and  stern  as  the  figure  of 
Justice  —  and  yet,  I  too  have  a  heart  that  overflows  with 
tenderness." 

"  But  why,"  I  said,  "  do  you  not  use  this  great  in- 
fluence to  master  him  and  govern  him  ?  " 

"If  it  concerned  myself  only  I  should  not  attempt 
either  to  overcome  the  dogged  silence  with  which  for 
days  together  he  meets  my  arguments,  nor  to  answer 
his  irrational  remarks,  his  childish  reasons.  I  have  no 
courage  against  weakness,  an}'  more  than  I  have  against 
childhood ;  the}7  may  strike  me  as  they  will,  I  cannot 
resist.  Perhaps  I  might  meet  strength  with  strength, 
but  I  am  powerless  against  those  I  pity.  If  I  were  re- 
quired to  coerce  Madeleine  in  some  matter  that  would 
save  her  life,  I  should  die  with  her.  Pity  relaxes  all 
my  fibres  and  unstrings  my  nerves.  So  it  is  that  the 
violent  shocks  of  the  last  ten  years  have  broken  me 
down  ;  my  feelings,  so  often  battered,  are  numb  at 
times ;  nothing  can  revive  them ;  even  the  courage 
with  which  I  once  faced  my  troubles  begins  to  fail  me. 
Yes,   sometimes  I  am  beaten.     For  want  of  rest  —  I 


86  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

mean  repose  —  and  sea-baths  by  which  to  recover  my 
nervous  strength,  I  shall  perish.  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sanf  will  have  killed  me,  and  he  will  die  of  my  death." 

"Why  not  leave  Clochegourde  for  a  few  months? 
Surely  you  could  take  your  children  and  go  to  the  sea- 
shore." 

14  In  the  first  place,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  would 
think  he  were  lost  if  I  left  him.  Though  he  will  not 
admit  his  condition  he  is  well  aware  of  it.  He  is  both 
sane  and  mad,  two  natures  in  one  man,  a  contradiction 
which  explains  man}'  an  irrational  action.  Besides  this, 
he  would  have  good  reason  for  objecting.  Nothing 
would  go  right  here  if  I  were  absent.  You  ma}'  have 
seen  in  me  the  mother  of  a  family  watchful  to  protect 
li£l*  young  from  the  hawk  that  is  hovering  over  them  ; 
a  weighty  task,  indeed,  but  harder  still  are  the  cares 
imposed  upon  me  by  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  whose 
constant  cry,  as  he  follows  me  about  is,  '  Where  is 
Madame?'  I  am  Jacques'  tutor  and  Madeleine's  gov- 
erness ;  but  that  is  not  all,  I  am  bailiff  and  steward 
too.  You  will  understand  what  that  means  when  you 
come  to  see,  as  you  will,  that  the  working  of  an  es- 
tate in  these  parts  is  the  most  fatiguing  of  all  employ^ 
ments.  We  get  small  returns  in  money  ;  the  farms  are 
cultivated  on  shares,  a  system  which  needs  the  closest 
supervision.  We  are  obliged  ourselves  to  sell  our  own 
produce,  our  cattle  and  harvests  of  all  kinds.  Our 
competitors  in  the  markets  are  our  own  farmers,  who 
meet  consumers  in  the  wine-shops  and  determine  prices 
by  selling  first.  I  should  weary  you  if  I  explained  the 
many  difficulties  of  agriculture  in  this  region.  No  mat 
ter  what  care  I  give  to  it,  I  cannot  always  prevent  our 


TJie  Lily  of  the    Valley.  87 

tenants  from  putting  our  manure  upon  their  ground ; 
I  cannot  be  ever  on  the  watch  lest  they  take  advantage 
of  us  in  the  division  of  the  crops  ;  neither  can  I  always 
know  the  exact  moment  when  sales  should  be  made. 
So,  if  you  think  of  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf's  defective 
memory,  and  the  difficulty  }rou  have  seen  me  have  in 
persuading  him  to  attend  to  business,  you  can  under- 
stand the  burden  that  is  on  my  shoulders,  and  the  im- 
possibility of  my  laying  it  down  for  a  single  day.  If  I 
were  absent  we  should  be  ruined.  No  one  would  obey 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf.  In  the  first  place  his  orders 
are  conflicting ;  then  no  one  likes  him  ;  he  finds  inces- 
sant fault,  and  he  is  very  domineering.  Moreover,  like 
all  men  of  feeble  mind,  he  listens  too  readily  to  his  in- 
feriors. If  I  left  the  house  not  a  servant  would  be  in  it 
in  a  week's  time.  So  }"ou  see  I  am  attached  to  Cloche- 
gourde  as  those  leaden  finials  are  to  our  roof.  I  have 
no  reserves  with  you.  The  whole  country-side  is  still 
ignorant  of  the  secrets  of  this  house,  but  you  know 
them,  you  have  seen  them.  Say  nothing  but  what  is 
kind  and  friendly,  and  }'Ou  shall  have  my  esteem  —  my 
gratitude,"  she  added  in  a  softer  voice.  "  On  those 
terms  you  are  welcome  at  Clochegourde,  where  3*011  will 
find  friends." 

"  Ah  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  I  see  that  I  have  never  realty 
suffered,  while  you  —  " 

u  No,  no!  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  smile,  that  smile 
of  all  resigned  women  which  might  melt  a  granite  rock. 
"  Do  not  be  astonished  at  my  frank  confidence  ;  it  shows 
you  life  as  it  is,  not  as  your  imagination  pictures  it. 
We  all  have  our  defects  and  our  good  qualities.  If  I 
had  married  a  spendthrift  he  would  have  ruined  me. 


88  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

If  I  had  given  myself  to  an  ardent  and  pleasure-loving 
young  man,  perhaps  I  could  not  have  retained  him ;  he 
might  have  left  me,  and  I  should  have  died  of  jealousy. 
For  I  am  jealous  !  "  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  excitement, 
which  was  like  the  thunderclap  of  a  passing  storm. 
"But  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  loves  me  as  much  as  he 
is  capable  of  loving ;  all  that  his  heart  contains  of  af- 
fection he  pours  at  my  feet,  like  the  Magdalen's  cup  of 
ointment.  Believe  me,  a  life  of  love  is  an  exception  to 
the  laws  of  this  earth  ;  all  flowers  fade  ;  great  joys  and 
emotions  have  a  morrow  of  evil  —  if  a  morrow  at  all. 
Real  life  is  a  life  of  anguish ;  its  image  is  in  that  nettle 
growing  there  at  the  foot  of  the  wall,  —  no  sun  can  reach 
it  and  it  keeps  green.  Yet,  here,  as  in  parts  of  the 
North,  there  are  smiles  in  the  slry,  few  to  be  sure, 
but  they  compensate  for  many  a  grief.  Moreover, 
women  who  are  naturally  mothers  live  and  love  far 
more  through  sacrifices  than  through  pleasures.  Here 
I  draw  upon  myself  the  storms  I  fear  may  break  upon 
my  children  or  m}r  people  ;  and  in  doing  so  I  feel  a 
something  I  cannot  explain,  which  gives  me  secret 
courage.  The  resignation  of  the  night  carries  me 
through  the  day  that  follows.  God  does  not  leave 
me  comfortless.  Time  was  when  the  condition  of  my 
children  filled  me  with  despair ;  to-da}'  as  they  ad- 
vance in  life  they  grow  healthier  and  stronger.  And 
then,  after  all,  our  home  is  improved  and  beautified, 
our  means  are  improving  also.  Who  knows  but  Mon- 
sieur de  Mortsauf's  old  age  ma}'  be  a  blessing  to  me? 
Ah,  believe  me  !  those  who  stand  before  the  Great 
Judge  with  palms  in  their  hands,  leading  comforted 
to  Him  the  beings  who  cursed  their  lives,  they,  they 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  89 

have  turned  their  sorrows  into  joy.  If  my  sufferings 
bring  about  the  happiness  of  my  famity,  are  they 
sufferings  at  all?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  u  the}'  are  ;  but  the}'  were  necessaiy,  / 
as  mine  have  been,  to  make  us  understand  the  true 
flavor  of  the  fruit  that  has  ripened  on  our  rocks.  Now, 
surety,  we  shall  taste  it  together ;  surety  we  ma}-  admire  Jfe"/*^ 
its  wonders,  the  sweetness  of  affection  it  has  poured 
into  our  souls,  that  inward  sap  which  revives  the  sear- 
ing leaves  —  Good  God  !  do  you  not  understand  me  ?  " 
I  cried,  falling  into  the  mystical  language  to  which  our 
religious  training  had  accustomed  us.  4t  See  the  paths 
by  which  we  have  approached  each  other  ;  what  magnet 
led  us  through  that  ocean  of  bitterness  to  these  springs 
of  running  water,  flowing  at  the  foot  of  those  hills  above 
the  shining  sands  and  between  their  green  and  flowery 
meadows?  Have  we  not  followed  the  same  star  ?  We 
stand  before  the  cradle  of  a  divine  child  whose  joyous 
carol  will  renew  the  world  for  us,  teach  us  through  hap- 
piness a  love  of.  life,  give  to  our  nights  their  long-lost 
sleep,  and  to  the  days  their  gladness.  What  hand  is 
this  that  year  b}r  year  has  tied  new  cords  between  us  ? 
Are  we  not  more  than  brother  and  sister?  That  which 
heaven  has  joined  we  must  not  keep  asunder.  The  suf- 
ferings you  reveal  are  the  seeds  scattered  by  the  sower 
for  the  harvest  alread}*  ripening  in  the  sunshine.  Shall 
we  not  gather  it  sheaf  by  sheaf?  What  strength  is  in  J 
me  that  I  dare  address  you  thus !  Answer,  or  I  will 
never  again  recross  that  river ! " 

"You  have  spared  me  the  word  love,"  she  said,  in  a 
stern  voice,  "  but  you  have  spoken  of  a  sentiment  of 
which  I  know  nothing  and  which  is  not  permitted  to  me. 


90  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

\  You  are  a  child  ;  and  again  I  pardon  3'ou,  but  for  the 
\  last  time.  Endeavor  to  understand,  Monsieur,  that  my 
heart  is,  as  it  were,  intoxicated  with  motherhood.  I 
love  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  neither  from  social  dut}r  nor 
from  a  calculated  desire  to  win  eternal  blessings,  but 
from  an  irresistible  feeling  which  fastens  all  the  fibres 
of  my  heart  upon  him.  Was  my  marriage  a  mistake? 
My  sympathy  for  misfortune  led  to  it.  It  is  the  part 
of  women  to  heal  the  woes  caused  by  the  march  of 
events,  to  comfort  those  who  rush  into  the  breach  and 
return  wounded.  How  shall  I  make  j*ou  understand 
me?  I  have  felt  a  selfish  pleasure  in  seeing  that  3011 
amused  him  ;  is  not  that  pure  motherhood  ?  Did  I  not 
make  you  see  by  what  I  owned  just  now,  the  three 
children  to  whom  I  am  bound,  to  whom  I  shall  never 
fail,  on  whom  I  strive  to  shed  a  healing  dew  and  the 
light  of  nry  own  soul  without  withdrawing  or  adulter- 
ating a  single  particle?  Do  not  embitter  the  mother's 
milk  !  though  as  a  wife  I  am  invulnerable,  you  must 
never  again  speak  thus  to  me.  If  you  do  not  respect 
this  command,  simple  as  it  is,  the  door  of  this  house 
will  be  closed  to  you.  I  believed  in  pure  friendship,  in 
a  voluntary  brotherhood,  more  real,  I  thought,  than  the 
brotherhood  of  blood.  I  was  mistaken.  I  wanted  a 
friend  who  was  not  a  judge,  a  friend  who  would  listen 
to  me  in  those  moments  of  weakness  when  reproof  is 
killing,  a  sacred  friend  from  whom  I  should  have  noth- 
ing to  fear.  Youth  is  noble,  truthful,  capable  of  sacri- 
fice, disinterested  ;  seeing  your  persistency  in  coming  to 
us,  1  believed,  yes,  I  will  admit  that  I  believed  in  some 
divine  purpose ;  I  thought  I  should  find  a  soul  that 
would  be  mine,  as  the  priest  is  the  soul  of  all ;  a  heart 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  91 

in  which  to  pour  my  troubles  when  thej-  deluged  mine, 
a  friend  to  hear  m}T  cries  when  if  I  continued  to  smother 
them  they  would  strangle  me.  Could  I  but  have  this 
friend,  my  life,  so  precious  to  these  children,  might  be 
prolonged  till  Jacques  had  grown  to  manhood.  But 
that  is  selfish !  The  Laura  of  Petrarch  cannot  be  lived 
again.  I  must  die  at  my  post,  like  a  soldier,  friendless. 
My  confessor  is  harsh,  austere,  and  —  my  aunt  is  dead." 

Two  large  tears  filled  her  eyes,  gleamed  in  the  moon- 
light, and  rolled  down  her  cheeks  ;  but  I  stretched  my 
hand  in  time  to  catch  them,  and  I  drank  them  with  an 
avidity  excited  b}r  her  words,  b4y  the  thought  of  those 
ten  years  of  secret  woe,  of  wasted  feelings,  of  constant 
care,  of  ceaseless  dread  —  years  of  the  loft}'  heroism  of 
her  sex.     She  looked  at  me  with  gentle  stupefaction. 

"It  is  the  first  communion  of  love,"  I  said.  "  Yes, 
I  am  now  a  sharer  of  your  sorrows.  I  am  united  to 
3'our  soul  as  our  souls  are  united  to  Christ  in  the  sacra- 
ment. /To  love,  even  without  hope,  is  happiness. )  Ah  ! 
what  woman  on  earth  could  give  me  a  jo3T  equal  to  that 
of  receiving  }*our  tears !  I  accept  the  contract  which 
must  end  in  suffering  to  myself.  I  give  myself  to  you 
with  no  ulterior  thought.  I  will  be  to  you  that  which 
you  will  me  to  be  —  " 

She  stopped  me  with  a  motion  of  her  hand,  and  said 
in  her  deep  voice,  "  I  consent  to  this  agreement  if  you 
will  promise  never  to  tighten  the  bonds  which  bind  us 
together." 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "but  the  less  you  grant  the  more 
evidence  of  possession  I  ought  to  have." 

n  You  begin  by  distrusting  me,"  she  replied,  with 
an  expression  of  melancholy  doubt. 


92  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

"  No,  I  spoke  from  pure  happiness.  Listen  ;  give  me 
a  name  by  which  no  one  calls  you ;  a  name  to  be  ours 
only,  like  the  feeling  which  unites  us." 

"  That  is  much  to  ask,"  she  said,  "  but  I  will  show 
}-ou  that  I  am  not  petty.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  calls 
me  Blanche.  One  only  person,  the  one  I  have  most 
loved,  nry  dear  aunt,  called  me  Henriette.  I  will  be 
Henriette  once  more,  to  you." 

I  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  She  left  it  in  mine 
with  the  trustfulness  that  makes  a  woman  so  far 
superior  to  men ;  a  trustfulness  that  shames  us.  She 
was  leaning  on  the  brick  balustrade  and  gazing  at  the 
river. 

"  Are  you  not  unwise,  my  friend,  to  rush  at  a  bound 
to  the  extremes  of  friendship?  You  have  drained  the 
cup,  offered  in  all  sincerity,  at  a  draught.  It  is  true 
that  a  real  feeling  is  never  piecemeal ;  it  must  be 
whole,  or  it  does  not  exist.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf," 
she  added  after  a  short  silence,  u  is  above  all  things 
loyal  and  brave.  Perhaps  for  my  sake  3-011  will  forget 
what  he  said  to  you  to-da}r ;  if  he  has  forgotten  it 
to-morrow,  I  will  myself  tell  him  what  occurred.  Do 
not  come  to  Clochegourde  for  a  few  days ;  he  will 
respect  you  more  if  you  do  not.  On  Sunday,  after 
church,  he  will  go  to  3-011.  I  know  him  ;  he  will  wish  to 
undo  the  wrong  he  did,  and  he  will  like  3-011  all  the 
better  for  treating  him  as  a  man  who  is  responsible  for 
his  words  and  actions." 

"  Five  days  without  seeing  3*011,  without  hearing  your 
voice  !  " 

"Do  not  put  such  warmth  into  your  manner  of 
speaking  to  me,"  she  said. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  93 

We  walked  twice  round  the  terrace  in  silence.  Then 
she  said,  in  a  tone  of  command  which  proved  to  me  that 
she  had  taken  possession  of  my  soul,  l*  It  is  late  ;  we 
will  part." 

I  wished  to  kiss  her  hand  ;  she  hesitated,  then  gave  it 
to  me,  and  said  in  voice  of  entreat)' :  "  Never  take  it  un- 
less I  give  it  to  you  ;  leave  me  my  freedom  ;  if  not,  I  shall 
be  simply  a  thing  of  }'Ours,  and  that  ought  not  to  be." 

"  Adieu,"  I  said. 

I  went  out  by  the  little  gate  of  the  lower  terrace, 
which  she  opened  for  me.  Just  as  she  was  about  to 
close  it  she  opened  it  again  and  offered  me  her  hand, 
saying:  tk  You  have  been  truly  good  to  me  this  even- 
ing ;  you  have  comforted  my  whole  future ;  take  it,  my 
friend,  take  it." 

I  kissed  her  hand  again  and  again,  and  when  1  raised 
my  e}*es  I  saw  the  tears  in  hers.  She  returned  to  the 
upper  terrace  and  I  watched  her  for  a  moment  from  the 
meadow.  When  I  was  on  the  road  to  Frapesle  I  again 
saw  her  white  robe  shimmering  in  a  moonbeam ;  then, 
a  few  moments  later,  a  light  was  in  her  bedroom. 

44  Oh,  my  Henriette  ! "  I  cried,  "to  you  I  pledge  the       \ 
purest  love  that  ever  shone  upon  this  earth." 

I  turned  at  every  step  as  I  regained  Frapesle.  In- 
effable contentment  filled  my  mind.  A  way  was  open  ' 
for  the  devotion  that  swells  all  youthful  hearts  and 
which  in  mine  had  been  so  long  inert.  Like  the  priest 
who  by  one  solemn  step  enters  a  new  life,  m}T  vows 
were  taken  ;  I  was  consecrated.  A  simple  "  Yes  "  had 
bound  me  to  keep  my  love  within  my  soul  and  never  to 
abuse  our  friendship  by  leading  this  woman  step  by 
step  to  love.     All  noble  feelings  were  awakened  within 


94  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

me  and  I  heard  the  murmur  of  their  voices.  Before 
confining  myself  within  the  narrow  walls  of  a  room,  I 
stopped  beneath  the  azure  heavens  sown  with  stars, 
I  listened  to  the  ring-dove  plaints  of  m}r  own  heart, 
I  heard  again  the  simple  tones  of  that  ingenuous  con- 
fidence, I  gathered  in  the  air  the  emanations  of  that 
soul  which  henceforth  must  ever  seek  me.  How 
grand  that  woman  seemed  to  me,  with  her  absolute 
forgetfulness  of  self,  her  religion  of  mercy  to  wounded 
hearts,  feeble  or  suffering,  her  declared  allegiance  to 
her  legal  yoke.  She  was  there,  serene  upon  her  pyre 
of  saint  and  martyr.  I  adored  her  face  as  it  shone  to 
me  in  the  darkness.  Suddenly  I  fancied  I  perceived  a 
meaning  in  her  words,  a  mysterious  significance  which 
made  her  to  my  eyes  sublime.  Perhaps  she  longed  that 
I  should  be  to  her  what  she  was  to  the  little  world 
around  her.  Perhaps  she  sought  to  draw  from  me  her 
strength  and  consolation,  putting  me  thus  within  her 
sphere,  her  equal,  or  perhaps  above  her.  The  stars, 
say  some  bold  builders  of  the  universe,  communicate  to 
each  other  light  and  motion.  This  thought  lifted  me  to 
ethereal  regions.  I  entered  once  more  the  heaven  of 
my  former  visions  ;  1  found  a  meaning  for  the  miseries 
of  my  childhood  in  the  illimitable  happiness  to  which 
they  had  led  me. 

Spirits  quenched  by  tears,  hearts  misunderstood, 
saintly  Clarissa  Harlowes  forgotten  or  ignored,  children 
neglected,  exiles  innocent  of  wrong,  all  3'e  who  enter 
life  through  barren  wa}'S,  on  whom  men's  faces  every- 
where look  coldly,  to  whom  ears  close  and  hearts  are 
shut,  cease  your  complaints  !  You  alone  can  know  the 
infinitude  of  joy  held  in  that  moment  when  one  heart 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  95 

opens  to  }rou,  one  ear  listens,  one  look  answers  }Tours. 
A  single  day  effaces  all  past  evil.  Sorrow,  de- 
spondenc}',  despair,  and  melanchoty,  passed  but  not  for- 
gotten, are  links  b}r  which  the  soul  then  fastens  to  its 
mate.  Woman  falls  heir  to  all  our  past,  our  sighs,  our 
lost  illusions,  and  gives  them  back  to  us  ennobled ;  she 
explains  those  former  griefs  as  payment  claimed  by 
destiny  for  joys  eternal,  which  she  brings  to  us  on  the 
day  our  souls  are  wedded.  The  angels  alone  can  utter 
the  new  name  by  which  that  sacred  love  is  called,  and 
none  but  women,  dear  martyrs,  truly  know  what  Ma- 
dame de  Mortsauf  now  became  to  me  —  to  me,  poor 
and   desolate. 


II. 

FIRST    LOVE. 

This  scene  took  place  on  a  Tuesda}\  I  waited  until 
Sunday  and  did  not  cross  the  river.  During  those  five 
days  great  events  were  happening  at  Clochegourde. 
The  count  received  his  brevet  as  general  of  brigade, 
the  cross  of  Saint  Louis,  and  a  pension  of  four  thou- 
sand francs.  The  Due  de  Lenoncourt-Givry,  made  peer 
of  France,  recovered  possession  of  two  forests,  resumed 
his  place  at  court,  and  his  wife  regained  all  her  unsold 
propert}',  which  had  been  made  part  of  the  imperial 
orown  lands.  The  Comtesse  de  Mortsauf  thus  became 
an  heiress.  Her  mother  had  arrived  at  Clochegourde, 
bringing  her  a  hundred  thousand  francs  economized  at 
Givry,  the  amount  of  her  dowry,  still  unpaid  and  never 


9G  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

asked  for  by  the  count  in  spite  of  his  poverty.  In  all 
such  matters  of  external  life  the  conduct  of  this  man 
was  proudly  disinterested.  Adding  to  this  sum  his  own 
few  savings  he  was  able  to  buy  two  neighboring  estates, 
which  would  yield  him  some  nine  thousand  francs  a 
year.  His  son  would  of  course  succeed  to  the  grand- 
father's peerage,  and  the  count  now  saw  his  way  to 
entail  the  estate  upon  him  without  injur}'  to  Madeleine, 
for  whom  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt  would  no  doubt  assist 
in  promoting  a  good  marriage. 

These  arrangements  and  this  new  happiness  shed 
some  balm  upon  the  count's  sore  mind.  The  presence 
of  the  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt  at  Clochegourde  was  a 
great  event  to  the  neighborhood.  I  reflected  gloomily 
that  she  was  a  great  lady,  and  the  thought  made  me 
conscious  of  the  spirit  of  caste  in  the  daughter  which 
the  nobility  of  her  sentiments  had  hitherto  hidden  from 
me.  Who  was  I  —  poor,  insignificant,  and  with  no  fu- 
ture but  m}'  courage  and  1113'  faculties?  I  did  not  then 
think  of  the  consequences  of  the  Restoration  either  for 
.me  or  for  others.  On  Sunday  morning,  frohi  the  private 
chapel  where  I  sat  with  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Ches- 
sel  and  the  Abbe  de  Quelus,  I  cast  an  eager  glance  at 
another  lateral  chapel  occupied  by  the  duchess  and  her 
daughter,  the  count  and  his  children.  The  large  straw 
hat  which  hid  my  idol  from  me  did  not  tremble,  and  this 
unconsciousness  of  mjr  presence  seemed  to  bind  me  to 
her  more  than  all  the  past.  This  noble  Henriette  de 
Lenoncourt,  my  Henriette,  whose  life  I  longed  to  gar- 
land, was  praying  earnestly ;  faith  gave  to  her  figure  an 
abandonment,  a  prosternation,  the  attitude  of  some  re- 
ligious statue,  which  moved  me  to  the  soul. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  97 

According  to  village  custom,  vespers  were  said  soon 
after  mass.  Coming  out  of  church  Madame  de  Ches- 
sel  naturally  proposed  to  her  neighbors  to  pass  the  in- 
termediate time  at  Frapesle  instead  of  crossing  the 
Indre  and  the  meadows  twice  in  the  great  heat.  The 
oifer  was  accepted.  Monsieur  de  Chessel  gave  his 
aim  to  the  duchess,  Madame  de  Chessel  took  that  of 
the  count.  I  offered  mine  to  the  countess,  and  felt,  for 
the  first  time,  that  beautiful  arm  against  my  side.  As 
we  walked  from  the  church  to  Frapesle  by  the  woods 
of  Sache,  where  the  light,  filtering  down  through  the 
foliage,  made  those  pretty  patterns  on  the  path  which 
seem  like  painted  silk,  such  sensations  of  pride,  such 
ideas  took  possession  of  me  that  my  heart  beat 
violently. 

44  What  is  the  matter?"  she  said,  after  walking  a 
little  way  in  a  silence  I  dared  not  break.  '4  Your 
heart  beats  too  fast  —  " 

44 1  have  heard  of  your  good  fortune,"  I  replied, 
44  and,  like  all  others  who  love  truly,  I  am  beset  with 
vague  fears.  Will  your  new  dignities  change  you  and 
lessen  your  friendship?" 

44  Change  me!"  she  said;  44  oh,  fie!  Another  such 
idea  and  I  shall  —  not  despise  you,  but  forget  you  for- 
ever." 

I  looked  at  her  with  an  ecstasy  which  should  have 
been  contagious. 

44  We  profit  by  the  new  laws  which  we  have  neither 
brought  about  nor  demanded,"  she  said;  44  but  we  are 
not  either  place-hunters  or  beggars ;  besides,  as  you 
know  very  well,  neither  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  nor  I 
can  leave  Clochegourde.     By  my  advice  he  has  declined 

7 


98  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

the  command  to  which  his  rank  entitled  him  at  the 
Maison  Rouge.  We  are  quite  content  that  my  father 
should  have  his  place.  This  forced  modesty,"  she 
added  with  some  bitterness,  "  has  already  been  of 
service  to  our  son.  The  king,  to  whose  household  my 
father  is  appointed,  said  very  graciously  that  he  would 
show  Jacques  the  favor  we  were  not  willing  to  accept. 
Jacques'  education,  which  must  now  be  thought  of,  is 
already  being  discussed.  He  will  be  the  representative 
of  two  houses,  the  Lenoncourt  and  the  Mortsauf  fami- 
lies. I  can  have  no  ambition  except  for  him,  and  there- 
fore m}r  anxieties  seem  to  have  increased.  Not  only 
must  Jacques  live,  but  he  must  be  made  worthy  of  his 
name ;  two  necessities  which,  as  3*011  know,  conflict. 
And  then,  later,  what  friend  will  keep  him  safe  for  me 
in  Paris,  where  all  things  are  pitfalls  for  the  soul  and 
dangers  for  the  body?  My  friend,"  she  said,  in  a  broken 
voice,  "  who  could  not  see  upon  your  brow  and  in  your 
eyes  that  3*011  are  one  who  will  inhabit  heights?  Be 
some  day  the  guardian  and  sponsor  of  our  boy.  Go  to 
Paris ;  if  your  father  and  brother  will  not  second  you, 
our  family,  above  all  m}T  mother,  who  has  a  genius  for 
the  management  of  life,  will  help  3*ou.  Profit  by  our 
influence ;  you  will  never  be  without  support  in  what- 
ever career  3*011  choose ;  put  the  strength  of  your  de- 
sires into  a  noble  ambition  —  " 

"  I  understand  3*011,"  I  said,  interrupting  her ;  "  am- 
bition is  to  be  m3*  mistress.  I  have  no  need  of  that  to 
be  wholly  yours.  No,  I  will  not  be  rewarded  for  my 
obedience  here  by  receiving  favors  there.  I  will  go ; 
I  will  make  my  own  wa3* ;  I  will  rise  alone.  From  3*011 
I  would  accept  everything,  from  others  nothing." 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  99 

"  Child !  "  she  murmured,  ill-concealing  a  smile  of 
pleasure.  • 1 

"  Besides,  I  have  taken  my  vows,"  I  went  on. 
"Thinking  over  our  situation  I  am  resolved  to  bind 
myself  to  you  by  ties  that  never  can  be  broken." 

She  trembled  slightly  and  stopped  short  to  look  at  me. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  asked,  letting  the  couples 
who  preceded  us  walk  on,  and  keeping  the  children  at 
her  side. 

"  This,"  I  said  ;  "  but  first  tell  me  frankly  how  you 
wish  me  to  love  you." 

44  Love  me  as  my  aunt  loved  me;  I  gave  you  her 
rights  when  I  permitted  you  to  call  me  03-  the  name 
which  she  chose  for  her  own  among  my  others." 

"  Then  I  am  to  love  without  hope  and  with  an  abso- 
lute devotion.  Well,  3-es  ;  I  will  do  for  you  what  some 
men  do  for  God.  I  shall  feel  that  you  have  asked  it. 
I  will  enter  a  seminaiy  and  make  myself  a  priest,  and 
then  I  will  educate  your  son.  Jacques  shall  be  myself 
in  his  own  form  ;  political  conceptions,  thoughts,  energy, 
patience,  I  will  give  him  all.  In  that  way  I  shall  live 
near  to  3*011,  and  my  love,  inclosed  in  religion  as  a 
silver  image  in  a  crystal  shrine,  can  never  be  suspected 
of  evil.  You  will  not  have  to  fear  the  undisciplined 
passions  which  grasp  a  man  and  by  which  alread}T  I 
have  allowed  myself  to  be  vanquished.  I  will  consume 
my  own  being  in  the  flame,  and  I  will  love  3*011  with  a 
purified  love."  >^" 

She  turned  pale  and  said,  hurrying  her  words  :  "  Felix, 
do  not  put  yourself  in  bonds  that  might  prove  an 
obstacle  to  our  happiness.  I  should  die  of  grief  for 
having  caused  a  suicide  like  that.     Child,  do  you  think 


100  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

despairing  love  a  life's  vocation?  Wait  for  life's  trials 
before  yon  judge  of  life  ;  I  command  it.  Marry  neither 
the  Church  nor  a  woman  ;  marry  not  at  all,  —  I  forbid 
it.  Remain  free.  You  are  twenty -one  years  old  —  My 
God  !  can  I  have  mistaken  him  ?  I  thought  two  months 
sufficed  to  know  some  souls." 

44  What  hope  have  you?"  I  cried,  with  fire  in  my 
eyes. 

44  My  friend,  accept  our  help,  rise  in  life,  make  your 
way  and  your  fortune  and  3'ou  shall  know  my  hope. 
And,"  she  added,  as  if  she  were  whispering  a  secret, 
44  never  release  the  hand  you  are  holding  at  this 
moment." 

She  bent  to  my  ear  as  she  said  these  words  which 
proved  her  deep  solicitude  for  my  future. 

44  Madeleine  !  "  I  exclaimed  44  never  !  " 

We  were  close  to  a  wooden  gate  which  opened  into 
the  park  of  Frapesle  ;  I  still  seem  to  see  its  ruined 
posts  overgrown  with  climbing  plants  and  briers  and 
mosses.  Suddenly  an  idea,  that  of  the  count's  death, 
flashed  through  my  brain,  and  I  said,  44  I  understand 
you." 

44  I  am  glad  of  it,"  she  answered  in  a  tone  which 
made  me  know  I  had  supposed  her  capable  of  a  thought 
that  could  never  be  hers. 

Her  purit}'  drew  tears  of  admiration  from  my  eyes 
which  the  selfishness  of  passion  made  bitter  indeed. 
My  mind  reacted  and  I  felt  that  she  did  not  love  me 
enough  even  to  wish  for  liberty.  So  long  as  love  re- 
coils from  crime  it  seems  to  have  its  limits,  and  love 
should  be  infinite.     A  spasm  shook  my  heart. 

44  She  does  not  love  me,"  I  thought. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  101 

To  hide  what  was  in  my  soul  I  stooped  over 
Madeleine  and  kissed  her  hair. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  your  mother,"  I  said  to  the  countess 
presently,  to  renew  the  conversation. 

44  So  am  I,"  she  answered  with  a  gesture  full  of 
childlike  gayet}\  "  Don't  forget  to  call  her  Madame  la 
duchesse,  and  to  speak  to  her  in  the  third  person.  The 
young  people  of  the  present  da}T  have  lost  these  polite 
manners ;  you  must  learn  them  ;  do  that  for  my  sake. 
Besides,  it  is  such  good  taste  to  respect  women,  no 
matter  what  their  age  may  be,  and  to  recognize  social 
distinctions  without  disputing  them.  The  respect 
shown  to  established  superiority  is  guarantee  for  that 
which  is  due  to  you.  Solidarity  is  the  basis  of  society. 
Cardinal  Delia  Rovere  and  Raffaelle  were  two  powers 
equally  revered.  You  have  sucked  the  milk  of  the 
Revolution  in  your  academy  and  your  political  ideas 
may  be  influenced  by  it ;  but  as  you  advance  in  life 
you  will  find  that  crude  and  ill-defined  principles  of 
liberty  are  powerless  to  create  the  happiness  of  the 
people.  Before  considering,  as  a  Lenoncourt,  what  an 
aristocracy  ought  to  be,  my  common -sense  as  a  woman 
of  the  people  tells  me  that  societies  can  exist  only 
through  a  hierarchy.  You  are  now  at  a  turning-point 
in  your  life,  when  \'ou  must  choose  wisely.  Be  on  our 
side,  —  especially  now,"  she  added,  laughing,  u  when  it 
triumphs." 

I  was  keenly  touched  by  these  words,  in  which  the 
depth  of  her  political  feeling  mingled  with  the  warmth 
of  affection,  —  a  combination  which  gives  to  women  so 
great  a  power  of  persuasion  ;  the}^  know  how  to  give  to 
the  keenest  arguments  a  tone  of  feeling.     In  her  desire 


102  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

to  justify  all  her  husband's  actions  Henriette  had  fore- 
seen the  criticisms  that  would  rise  in  m}T  mind  as  soon 
as  I  saw  the  servile  effects  of  a  courtier's  life  upon  him. 
Monsieur  cle  Mortsauf,  king  in  his  own  castle  and  sur- 
rounded by  an  historic  halo,  had,  to  my  e}es,  a  certain 
grandiose  dignity.  I  was  therefore  greatly  astonished  at 
the  distance  he  placed  between  the  duchess  and  himself 
by  manners  that  were  nothing  less  than  obsequious.  A 
slave  has  his  pride  and  will  only  serve  the  greatest 
despots.  I  confess  I  was  humiliated  at  the  degradation 
of  one  before  whom  I  trembled  as  the  power  that  ruled 
my  love.  This  inward  repulsion  made  me  understand 
the  martyrdom  of  women  of  generous  souls  yoked  to 
men  whose  meannesses  they  bur}-  daity.  Respect  is  a 
safeguard  which  protects  both  great  and  small  alike  ; 
each  side  can  hold  its  own.  I  was  respectful  to  the 
duchess  because  of  my  youth  ;  but  where  others  saw  only 
a  duchess  I  saw  the  mother  of  my  Henriette,  and  that 
gave  sanctity  to  my  homage. 

We  reached  the  great  court-yard  of  Frapesle,  where 
we  found  the  others.  The  Comte  de  Mortsauf  presented 
me  very  gracefully  to  the  duchess,  who  examined  me 
with  a  cold  and  reserved  air.  Madame  de  Lenoncourt 
was  then  a  woman  fifty-six  years  of  age,  wonderfully 
well  preserved  and  with  grand  manners.  When  I  saw 
the  hard  blue  eye,  the  hollow  temples,  the  thin  emaci- 
ated face,  the  erect,  imposing  figure  slow  of  movement, 
and  the  yellow  whiteness  of  the  skin  (reproduced 
with  such  brilliancy  in  the  daughter),  I  recognized  the 
cold  type  to  which  nry  own  mother  belonged,  as  quickly 
as  a  mineralogist  recognizes  Swedish  iron.  Her  lan- 
guage was  that  of  the  old  court ;  she  pronounced  the  oit 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  103 

like  ait,  and  said  frait  for  froid,  porteux  for  porteurs. 
I  was  not  a  courtier,  neither  was  I  stiff-backed  in  my 
manner  to  her ;  in  fact  I  behaved  so  well  that  as  I 
passed  the  countess  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  •*  You  are 
perfect." 

The  count  came  to  me  and  took  my  hand,  saying : 
"You  are  not  angry  with  me,  Felix,  are  3011?  If  I 
was  hasty  you  will  pardon  an  old  soldier  ?  We  shall 
probably  stay  here  to  dinner,  and  I  invite  3-011  to  dine 
with  us  on  Thursday,  the  evening  before  the  duchess 
leaves.  I  must  go  to  Tours  to-morrow  to  settle  some 
business.  Don't  neglect  Clochegourde.  My  mother-in- 
law  is  an  acquaintance  I  advise  3*ou  to  cultivate.  Her 
salon  will  set  the  tone  for  the  faubourg  St.-Germain. 
She  has  all  the  traditions  of  the  great  worlds  and 
possesses  an  immense  amount  of  social  knowledge  ;  she 
knows  the  blazon  of  the  oldest  as  well  as  the  newest 
family  in  Europe." 

The  count's  good  taste,  or  perhaps  the  advice  of  his 
domestic  genius,  appeared  under  his  altered  circum- 
stances. He  was  neither  arrogant  nor  offensively  polite, 
nor  pompous  in  an3r  way,  and  the  duchess  was  not 
patronizing.  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Chessel  grate- 
fully accepted  the  invitation  to  dinner  on  the  following 
Thursdaj'.  I  pleased  the  duchess,  and  03-  her  glance 
I  knew  she  was  examining  a  man  of  whom  her  daughter 
had  spoken  to  her.  As  wTe  returned  from  vespers  she 
questioned  me  about  my  famih',  and  asked  if  the  Van- 
denesse  now  in  diplomacy  was  my  relative.  "  He  is 
m3T  brother,"  I  replied.  On  that  she  became  almost 
affectionate.  She  told  me  that  ni3T  great-aunt,  the  old 
Marquise  de  Listomere,  was  a  Grandlieu.     Her  man- 


104  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

ners  were  as  cordial  as  those  of  Monsieur  de  Mortsanf 
the  day  he  saw  me  for  the  first  time  ;  the  haughtjT  glance 
with  which  these  sovereigns  of  the  earth  make  you 
measure  the  distance  that  lies  between  you  and  them 
disappeared.  I  knew  almost  nothing  of  nrv  family. 
The  duchess  told  me  that  my  great-uncle,  an  old  abbe 
whose  ver}'  name  I  did  not  know,  was  to  be  member 
of  the  privy  council,  that  my  brother  was  alread}'  pro- 
moted, and  also  that  by  a  provision  of  the  Charter,  of 
which  I  had  not  yet  heard,  my  father  became  once 
more  Marquis  de  Vandenesse.   . 

"I  am  but  one  thing,  the  serf  of  Clochegourde,,,  I 
said  in  a  low  voice  to  the  countess. 

The  transformation  scene  of  the  Restoration  was 
carried  through  with  a  rapidit}T  which  bewildered  the 
generation  brought  up  under  the  imperial  regime.  To 
me  this  revolution  meant  nothing.  The  least  word  or 
gesture  from  Madame  de  Mortsauf  were  the  sole  events 
to  which  I  attached  importance.  I  was  ignorant  of 
what  the  privy  council  was,  and  knew  as  little  of 
politics  as  of  social  life  ;  m}'  sole  ambition  was  to  love 
Henriette  better  than  Petrarch  loved  Laura.  This  indif- 
ference made  the  duchess  take  me  for  a  child.  A 
large  company  assembled  at  Frapesle  and  we  were 
thirt}"  at  table.  What  intoxication  for  a  young  man 
unused  to  the  world  to  see  the  woman  he  loves  more 
beautiful  than  all  others  around  her,  the  centre  of  ad- 
miring looks ;  to  know  that  for  him  alone  is  reserved  the 
chaste  fire  of  those  e3'es,  that  none  but  he  can  discern 
in  the  tones  of  that  voice,  in  the  words  it  utters,  how- 
ever ga}T  or  jesting  they  may  be,  the  proofs  of  unremit- 
ting thought.     The  count,  delighted  with  the  attentions 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  105 

paid  to  him,  seemed  almost  young;  his  wife  looked 
hopeful  of  a  change;  I  amused  myself  with  Madeleine, 
who,  like  all  children  with  bodies  weaker  than  their 
minds,  made  others  laugh  with  her  clever  observations, 
full  of  sarcasm,  though  never  malicious,  and  which 
spared  no  one.  It  was  a  happy  day.  A  word,  a  hope 
awakened  in  the  morning  illumined  nature.  Seeing  me 
so  joyous,  Henriette  was  joyful  too. 

"  This  happiness  smiling  on  my  gray  and  cloudy 
life  seems  good,"  she  said  to  me  the  next  day. 

That  day  I  naturally  spent  at  Clochegourde.  I  had 
been  banished  for  five  days,  I  was  athirst  for  life.  The 
count  left  at  six  in  the  morning  for  Tours.  A  serious 
disagreement  had  arisen  between  mother  and  daughter. 
The  ducliess  wanted  the  countess  to  move  to  Paris, 
where  she  promised  her  a  place  at  court,  and  where 
the  count,  reconsidering  his  refusal,  might  obtain  some 
high  position.  Henriette,  who  was  thought  happy  iu 
her  married  life,  would  not  reveal,  even  to  her  mother, 
her  tragic  sufferings  and  the  fatal  incapacity  of  her 
husband.  It  was  to  hide  his  condition  from  the  duchess 
that  she  persuaded  him  to  go  to  Tours  and  transact 
business  with  his  notaries.  I  alone,  as  she  had  truly 
said,  knew  the  dark  secret  of  Clochegourde.  Having 
learned  by  experience  how  the  pure  air  and  the  blue 
sky  of  the  lovely  vallej'  calmed  the  excitements  and 
soothed  the  morbid  griefs  of  the  diseased  mind,  and 
what  beneficial  effect  the  life  at  Clochegourde  had  upon 
the  health  of  her  children,  she  opposed  her  mother's  de- 
sire that  she  should  leave  it  with  reasons  which  the  over- 
bearing woman,  who  was  less  grieved  than  mortified  by 
her  daughter's  bad  marriage,  vigorously  combated. 


106  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

Henriette  saw  that  the  duchess  cared  little  for  Jacques 
and  Madeleine,  —  a  terrible  discovery  !  Like  all  dom- 
ineering mothers  who  expect  to  continue  the  same  au- 
thority over  their  married  daughters  that  the}-  maintained 
when  they  were  girls,  the  duchess  brooked  no  opposi- 
tion ;  sometimes  she  affected  a  crafty  sweetness  to  force 
her  daughter  to  compliance,  at  other  times  a  cold  sever- 
ity, intending  to  obtain  by  fear  what  gentleness  had 
failed  to  win  ;  then,  when  all  means  failed,  she  displa}-ed 
the  same  native  sarcasm  which  I  had  often  observed  in 
my  own  mother.  In  those  ten  days  Henriette  passed 
through  all  the  contentions  a  young  woman  must  endure 
to  establish  her  independence.  You,  who  for  your  hap- 
piness have  the  best  of  mothers,  can  scarcety  comprehend 
such  trials.  To  gain  a  true  idea  of  the  struggle  between 
that  cold,  calculating,  ambitious  woman  and  a  daughter 
abounding  in  the  tender  natural  kindness  that  never 
faileth,  }'ou  must  imagine  a  lily,  to  which  my  heart  has 
always  compared  her,  bruised  beneath  the  polished 
wheels  of  a  steel  car.  That  mother  had  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  her  daughter ;  she  was  unable  even  to  imagine 
the  real  difficulties  which  hindered  her  from  taking  ad- 
vantage of  the  Restoration  and  forced  her  to  continue  a 
life  of  solitude.  Though  families  bury  their  internal 
dissensions  with  the  utmost  care,  enter  behind  the 
scenes,  and  }rou  will  find  in  nearly  all  of  them  deep, 
incurable  wounds,  which  lessen  the  natural  affections. 
Sometimes  these  wounds  are  given  b}'  passions  real  and 
most  affecting,  rendered  eternal  b}T  the  dignity  of  those 
who  feel  them ;  sometimes  b3T  latent  hatreds  which 
slowly  freeze  the  heart  and  dry  all  tears  when  the  hour 
of   parting   comes.      Tortured   yesterday   and   to-day, 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  107 

wounded  by  all,  even  by  the  suffering  children  who 
were  guiltless  of  the  ills  they  endured,  how  could  that 
poor  soul  fail  to  love  the  one  human  being  who  did  not 
strike  her,  who  would  fain  have  built  a  wall  of  defence 
around  her  to  guard  her  from  storms,  from  harsh  con- 
tacts and  cruel  blows  ?  Though  I  suffered  from  a  knowl- 
edge of  these  debates,  there  were  moments  when  I  was 
happy  in  the  sense  that  she  rested  upon  my  heart ;  for 
she  told  me  of  these  new  troubles.  Da}T  by  day  I 
learned  more  fully  the  meaning  of  her  words,  —  u  Love 
me  as  my  aunt  loved  me." 

"  Have  you  no  ambition  ?  "  the  duchess  said,  to  me 
at  dinner,  with  a  stern  air. 

14  Madame,"  I  replied,  giving  her  a  serious  look,  "  I 
have  enough  in  me  to  conquer  the  world  ;  but  I  am  only 
twent3'-one,  and  I  am  all  alone." 

She  looked  at  her  daughter  with  some,  astonishment. 
Evidently  she  believed  that  Henriette  had  crushed  my 
ambition  in  order  to  keep  me  near  her.  The  visit  of 
Madame  de  Lenoncourt  was  a  period  of  unrelieved  con- 
straint. The  countess  begged  me  to  be  cautious ;  she 
was  frightened  b}r  the  least  kind  word  ;  to  please  her  I 
wore  the  harness  of  deceit.  The  great  Thursday  came  ; 
it  was  a  day  of  wearisome  ceremonial,  —  one  of  those 
stiff  days  which  lovers  hate,  when  their  chair  is  no 
longer  in  its  place,  and  the  mistress  of  the  house  can- 
not be  with  them.  \  Love  has  a  horror  of  all  that  does 
not  concern  itself)  But  the  duchess  returned  at  last 
to  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the  court,  and  Cloche- 
gourde  recovered  its  accustomed  order. 

My  little  quarrel  with  the  count  resulted  in  making 
me  more  at  home  in  the  house  than  ever ;  I  could  go 


108  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

there  at  all  times  without  hindrance ;  and  the  ante- 
cedents of  my  life  inclined  me  to  cling  like  a  climbing 
plant  to  the  beautiful  soul  which  had  opened  to  me  the 
enchanting  world  of  shared  emotions.  Every  hour, 
ever}-  minute,  our  fraternal  marriage,  founded  on  trust, 
became  a  surer  thing ;  each  of  us  settled  firmly  into  our 
own  position  ;  the  countess  enfolded  me  with  her  nur- 
turing care,  with  the  white  draperies  of  a  love  that  was 
wholljT  maternal ;  while  my  love  for  her,  seraphic  in  her 
presence,  seared  me  as  with  hot  irons  when  awa}'  from 
her.  I  loved  her  with  a  double  love  which  shot  its  ar- 
rows of  desire,  and  then  lost  them  in  the  sky,  where  they 
faded  out  of  sight  in  the  impermeable  ether.  If  you  ask 
me  why,  .young  and  ardent,  I  continued  in  the  deluding 
dreams  of  Platonic  love,  I  must  own  to  .you  that  I  was 
not  yet  man  enough  to  torture  that  woman,  who  was 
alwa}'s  in  dread  of  some  catastrophe  to  her  children, 
always  fearing  some  outburst  of  her  husband's  storm}' 
temper,  martyrized  by  him  when  not  afflicted  by  the  ill- 
ness of  Jacques  or  Madeleine,  and  sitting  beside  one  or 
the  other  of  them  when  her  husband  allowed  her  a  little 
rest.  The  mere  sound  of  too  warm  a  word  shook  her 
whole  being ;  a  desire  shocked  her ;  what  she  needed 
was  a  veiled  love,  support  mingled  with  tenderness,  — 
that,  in  short,  which  she  gave  to  others.  Then,  need  I 
tell  you,  who  are  so  truly  feminine?  this  situation  brought 
with  it  hours  of  delightful  languor,  moments  of  divine 
sweetness  and  content  which  followed  my  secret  immo- 
lation. Her  conscience  was,  if  I  may  call  it  so,  con- 
tagious ;  her  self-devotion  without  earthly  recompense 
awed  me  by  its  persistence ;  the  living,  inward  piety 
which  was  the  bond  of  her  other  virtues  filled  the  air 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  109 

about  her  with  spiritual  incense.  Besides,  I  was  young, 
—  young  enough  to  concentrate  my  whole  being  on  the 
kiss  she  allowed  me  too  seldom  to  la}-  upon  her  hand, 
of  which  she  gave  me  only  the  back,  and  never  the 
palm,  as  though  she  drew  the  line  of  sensual  emotions 
there.  No  two  souls  ever  clasped  each  other  with  so 
much  ardor,  no  bodies  were  ever  more  victoriously  an- 
nihilated. Later  I  understood  the  cause  of  this  suf- 
ficing joy.  At  my  age  no  worldly  interests  distracted 
my  heart ;  no  ambitions  blocked  the  stream  of  a  love 
which  flowed  like  a  torrent,  bearing  all  things  on  its 
bosom.  /Later,  we  love  the  woman  in  a  woman  ;  but  ' 
the  first  woman  we  love  is  the  whole  of  womanhood  ;y  I 
her  children  are  ours,  her  interests  are  our  interests, 
her  sorrows  our  greatest  sorrow ;  we  love  her  gown, 
the  familiar  things  about  her ;  we  are  more  grieved  by  a 
trifling  loss  of  hers  than  if  we  knew  we  had  lost  every- 
thing. This  is  the  sacred  love  that  makes  us  live  in 
the  being  of  another ;  whereas  later,  alas  !  we  draw 
another  life  into  ours,  and  require  a  woman  to  enrich 
our  pauper  spirit  with  her  young  soul. 

I  was  now  one  of  the  household,  and  I  knew  for  the 
first  time  an  infinite  sweetness,  which  to  a  nature  bruised 
as  mine  was  like  a  bath  to  a  weary  body ;  the  soul  is 
refreshed  in  every  fibre,  comforted  to  its  very  depths. 
You  will  hardly  understand  me,  for  you  are  a  woman, 
and  I  am  speaking  now  of  a  happiness  women  give  but 
do  not  receive.  A  man  alone  knows  the  choice  happi- 
ness of  being,  in  the  midst  of  a  strange  household,  the 
privileged  friend  of  its  mistress,  the  secret  centre  of  her 
affections.  No  dog  barks  at  you ;  the  servants,  like 
the  dogs,  recognize  your  rights  ;  the  children  (who  are 


110  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

never  misled,  and  know  that  their  power  cannot  be  les- 
sened, and  that  you  cherish  the  light  of  their  life),  the 
children  possess  the  gift  of  divination,  they  pla}T  with 
you  like  kittens  and  assume  the  friendly  tyranny  they 
show  only  to  those  they  love ;  the}-  are  full  of  intelli- 
gent discretion  and  come  and  go  on  tiptoe  without 
noise.  Every  one  hastens,  to  do  vou  service  ;  all  like 
you,  and  smile  upon  you.:  True  passions  are  like  beau- 
tiful flowers  all  the  more  charming  to  the  eye  when  they 
grow  in  a  barren  soil.y 

But  if  I  enjoyed  the  delightful  benefits  of  naturaliza- 
tion in  a  family  where  I  found  relations  after  my  own 
heart,  I  had  also  to  pay  some  costs  for  it.  Until  then 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  had  more  or  less  restrained  him- 
self before  me.  I  had  only  seen  his  failings  in  the 
mass ;  I  was  now  to  see  the  full  extent  of  their  appli- 
cation and  discover  how  nobly  charitable  the  countess 
had  been  in  the  account  she  had  given  me  of  these  daily 
struggles.  I  learned  now  all  the  angles  of  her  husband's 
intolerable  nature  ;  I  heard  his  perpetual  scolding  about 
nothing,  complaints  of  evils  of  which  not  a  sign  existed  ; 
I  saw  the  inward  dissatisfactions  which  poisoned  his 
life,  and  the  incessant  need  of  his  tyrannical  spirit  for 
new  victims.  When  we  went  to  walk  in  the  evenings 
he  selected  the  way ;  but  whichever  direction  we  took 
he  was  always  bored  ;  when  we  readied  home  he  blamed 
others  ;  his  wife  had  insisted  on  going  where  she  wanted ; 
wlrv  was  he  governed  by  her  in  all  the  trifling  things  of 
life?  was  he  to  have  no  will,  no  thought  of  his  own? 
must  he  consent  to  be  a  cipher  in  his  own  house?  If 
his  harshness  was  received  in  patient  silence  he  was 
angry  because  he  felt  a  limit  to  his  power ;  he  asked 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  Ill 

sharply  if  religion  did  not  require  a  wife  to  please  her 
husband,  and  whether  it  was  proper  to  despise  the  father 
of  her  children?  He  always  ended  hy  touching  some 
sensitive  chord  in  his  wife's  mind ;  and  he  seemed  to 
find  a  domineering  pleasure  in  making  it  sound.  Some- 
times he  tried  gloomy  silence  and  a  morbid  depression, 
which  always  alarmed  his  wife  and  made  her  pa}*  him 
the  most  tender  attentions.  Like  petted  children,  who 
exercise  their  power  without  thinking  of  the  distress  of 
their  mother,  he  would  let  her  wait  upon  him  as  upon 
Jacques  and  Madeleine,  of  whom  he  was  jealous. 

I  discovered  at  last  that  in  small  things  as  in  great 
ones  the  count  acted  towards  his  servants,  his  children, 
his  wife,  precisely  as  he  had  acted  to  me  about  the  back- 
gammon. The  day  when  I  understood,  root  and  branch, 
these  difficulties,  which  like  a  rampant  overgrowth  re- 
pressed the  actions  and  stifled  the  breathing  of  the  whole 
family,  hindered  the  management  of  the  household  and 
retarded  the  improvement  of  the  estate  by  complicating 
the  most  necessary  acts,  I  felt  an  admiring  awe  which 
rose  higher  than  nry  love  and  drove  it  back  into  my 
heart.  Good  God  !  what  was  I  ?  Those  tears  that  I 
had  taken  on  my  lips  solemnized  my  spirit ;  I  found 
happiness  in  wedding  the  sufferings  of  that  woman. 
Hitherto  I  had  yielded  to  the  count's  despotism  as  the 
smuggler  pays  his  fine ;  henceforth  I  was  a  voluntary 
victim  that  I  might  come  the  nearer  to  her.  The  coun- 
tess understood  me,  allowed  me  a  place  beside  her,  and 
gave  me  permission  to  share  her  sorrows  ;  like  the  re- 
pentant apostate,  eager  to  rise  to  heaven  with  his  breth- 
ren, I  obtained  the  favor  of  dying  in  the  arena. 

"  Were  it  not  for  you  I  must  have  succumbed  under 


112  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

this  life,"  Henriette  said  to  me  one  evening  when  the 
count  had  been,  like  the  flies  on  a  hot  dajT,  more  sting- 
ing, venomous,  and  persistent  than  usual. 

He  had  gone  to  bed.  Henriette  and  I  remained  un- 
der the  acacias ;  the  children  were  playing  about  us, 
bathed  in  the  setting  sun.  Our  few  exclamatory  words 
revealed  the  mutuality  of  the  thoughts  in  which  we  rested 
from  our  common  sufferings.  When  language  failed 
silence  as  faithfully  served  our  souls,  which  seemed  to 
enter  one  another  without  hindrance  ;  together  they  lux- 
uriated in  the  charms  of  pensive  languor,  they  met  in  the 
undulations  of  the  same  dream,  they  plunged  as  one  into 
the  river  and  came  out  refreshed  like  two  nymphs  as 
closely  united  as  their  souls  could  wish,  but  with  no 
earthly  tie  to  bind  them.  We  entered  the  unfathom- 
able gulf,  we  returned  to  the  surface  with  empt}-  hands, 
asking  each  other  by  a  look,  "  Among  all  our  days  on 
earth  will  there  be  one  for  us?" 

In  spite  of  the  tranquil  poetry  of  evening  which  gave 
to  the  bricks  of  the  balustrade  their  orange  tones,  so 
soothing  and  so  pure ;  in  spite  of  the  religious  atmos- 
phere of  the  hour,  which  softened  the  voices  of  the 
children  and  wafted  them  towards  us,  desire  crept 
through  my  veins  like  the  match  to  the  bonfire.  After 
three  months  of  repression  I  was  unable  to  content  my- 
self with  the  fate  assigned  me.  I  took  Henriette's  hand 
and  softly  caressed  it,  trying  to  convey  to  her  the  ardor 
that  invaded  me.  She  became  at  once  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf,  and  withdrew  her  hand  ;  tears  rolled  from  my  eyes, 
she  saw  them  and  gave  me  a  chilling  look,  as  she  of- 
fered her  hand  to  my  lips. 

"You  must  know,"  she  said,  "that  this  will  cause 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  113 

me  grief.  A  friendship  that  asks  so  great  a  favor  is 
dangerous." 

Then  I  lost  my  self-control ;  I  reproached  her,  I 
spoke  of  my  sufferings,  and  the  slight  alleviation  that  I 
asked  for  them.  I  dared  to  tell  her  that  at  my  age,  if 
the  senses  were  all  soul  still  the  soul  had  a  sex ;  that  I 
could  meet  death,  but  not  with  closed  lips.  She  forced 
me  to  silence  with  her  proud  glance,  in  which  I  seemed 
to  read  the  cry  of  the  Mexican  :  **  And  I,  am  I  on  a 
bed  of  roses  ?  "  Ever  since  that  day  by  the  gate  of 
Frapesle,  when  I  attributed  to  her  the  hope  that  our 
happiness  might  spring  from  a  grave,  I  had  turned 
with  shame  from  the  thought  of  staining  her  soul  with 
the  desires  of  a  brutal  passion.  She  now  spoke  with 
honeyed  lip,  and  told  me  that  she  never  could  be  wholly 
mine,  and  that  I  ought  to  know  it.  As  she  said  the  words 
I  knew  that  in  obeying  her  I  dug  an  abyss  between 
us.  I  bowed  my  head.  She  went  on,  saying  she  had 
an  inward  religious  certainty  that  she  might  love  me  as 
a  brother  without  offending  God  or  man  ;  such  love  was 
a  living  image  of  the  divine  love,  which  her  good  Saint- 
Martin  told  her  was  the  life  of  the  world.  If  I  could 
not  be  to  her  somewhat  as  her  old  confessor  was,  less 
than  a  lover  yet  more  than  a  brother,  I  must  never  see 
her  again.  She  could  die  and  take  to  God  her  sheaf 
of  sufferings,  borne  not  without  tears  and  anguish. 

"I  gave  you,"  she  said  in  conclusion,  "  more  than 
I  ought  to  have  given,  so  that  nothing  might  be  left  to 
take,  and  I  am  punished." 

I  was  forced  to  calm  her,  to  promise  never  to  cause 
her  pain,  and  to  love  her  at  twenty-one  years  of  age  as 
old  men  love  their  youngest  child. 


J 


r 


114  The  Lily  of   the    Valley. 

The  next  da}r  I  went  early.  There  were  no  flowers  in 
the  vases  of  her  gray  salon.  I  rushed  into  the  fields 
and  vineyards  to  make  her  two  bouquets ;  but  as  I 
gathered  the  flowers,  one  b}'  one,  cutting  their  long 
stalks  and  admiring  their  beaut\',  the  thought  occurred 
to  me  that  the  colors  and  foliage  had  a  poetiy,  a 
harmom',  which  meant  something  to  the  understanding 
while  they  charmed  the  eye ;  just  as  musical  melodies 
awaken  memories  in  hearts  that  are  loving  and  beloved. 
If  color  is  light  organized,  must  it  not  have  a  meaning 
of  its  own,  as  the  combinations  of  the  air  have  theirs? 
I  called  in  the  assistance  of  Jacques  and  Madeleine, 
and  all  three  of  us  conspired  to  surprise  our  dear  one. 
I  arranged,  on  the  lower  steps  of  the  portico,  where  we 
established  our  floral  headquarters,  two  bouquets  by 
which  I  tried  to  convey  a  sentiment.  Picture  to  your- 
self a  fountain  of  flowers  gushing  from  the  vases  and 
falling  back  in  curving  waves ;  my  message  spring- 
ing from  its  bosom  in  white  roses  and  lilies  with  their 
silver  cups.  All  the  blue  flowers,  harebells,  forget-me- 
nots,  and  ox-tongues,  whose  tints,  caught  from  the  skies, 
blended  so  well  with  the  whiteness  of  the  lilies,  sparkled 
on  this  dew}T  texture ;  were  the}'  not  the  type  of  two 
purities,  the  one  that  knows  nothing,  the  other  that 
knows  all ;  an  image  of  the  child,  an  image  of  the 
martyr?  Love  has  its  blazon,  and  the  countess  dis- 
cerned it  inwardly.  She  gave  me  a  poignant  glance 
which  was  like  the  cry  of  a  soldier  when  his  wound 
is  touched  ;  she  was  humbled  but  enraptured  too.  Mj* 
reward  was  in  that  glance ;  to  refresh  her  heart,  to  have 
given  her  comfort,  what  encouragement  for  me ! 
Then  it  was  that  I  pressed  the  theories  of  Pere  Castel 


The  Lily  of  the    Valleij.  115 

into  the  service  of  love,  and  recovered  a  science  lost  to 
Europe,  where  written  pages  have  supplanted  the 
flowery  missives  of  the  Orient  with  their  balmy  tints. 
What  charm  in  expressing  our  sensations  through  these 
daughters  of  the  sun,  sisters  to  the  flowers  that  bloom 
beneath  the  rays  of  love !  Before  long  I  communed 
with  the  flora  of  the  fields,  as  a  man  whom  1  met  in 
after  days  at  Grandlieu  communed  with  his  bees. 

Twice  a  week  during  the  remainder  of  m}r  sta}T  at 
Frapesle  I  continued  the  slow  labor  of  this  poetic  en- 
terprise, for  the  ultimate  accomplishment  of  which  I 
needed  all  varieties  of  herbaceous  plants ;  into  these  I 
made  a  deep  research,  less  as  a  botanist  than  as  a  poet, 
studying  their  spirit  rather  than  their  form.  To  find 
a  flower  in  its  native  haunts  I  walked  enormous  dis- 
tances, beside  the  brooklets,  through  the  valleys,  to  the 
summit  of  the  cliffs,  across  the  moorland,  garnering 
thoughts  even  from  the  heather.  During  these  rambles 
I  initiated  myself  into  pleasures  unthought  of  by  the 
man  of  science  who  lives  in  meditation,  unknown  to  the 
horticulturist  busy  with  specialties,  to  the  artisan  fet- 
tered to  a  city,  to  the  merchant  fastened  to  his  desk, 
but  known  to  a  few  foresters,  to  a  few  woodsmen,  and 
to  some  dreamers.  Nature  can  show  effects  the  sig- 
nifications of  which  are  limitless ;  they  rise  to  the 
grandeur  of  the  highest  moral  conceptions  —  be  it  the 
heather  in  bloom,  covered  with  the  diamonds  of  the  dew 
on  which  the  sunlight  dances ;  infinitude  decked  for  the 
single  glance  that  may  chance  to  fall  upon  it :  — be  it  a 
corner  of  the  forest  hemmed  in  with  time-worn  rocks 
crumbling  to  gravel  and  clothed  with  mosses  overgrown 
with  juniper,  which   grasps   our  minds   as  something 


116  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

savage,  aggressive,  terrifying  as  the  cry  of  the  kestrel 
issuing  from  it :  —  be  it  a  hot  and  barren  moor  without 
vegetation,  ston}',  rigid,  its  horizons  like  those  of  the 
desert,  where  once  I  gathered  a  sublime  and  solitary 
flower,  the  anemone  pulsatilla,  with  its  violet  petals 
opening  for  the  golden  stamens  ;  affecting  image  of  my 
pure  idol  alone  in  her  valley:  —  be  it  great  sheets 
of  water,  where  nature  casts  those  spots  of  greenery, 
a  species  of  transition  between  the  plant  and  animal, 
where  life  makes  haste  to  come  in  flowers  and  insects, 
floating  there  like  worlds  in  ether :  —  be  it  a  cottage 
with  its  garden  of  cabbages,  its  vineyards,  its  hedges 
overhanging  a  bog,  surrounded  by  a  few  sparse  fields  of 
r}*e  ;  true  image  of  many  humble  existences  :  —  be  it 
a  forest  path  like  some  cathedral  nave,  where  the  trees 
are  columns  and  their  branches  arch  the  roof,  at  the  far 
end  of  which  a  light  breaks  through,  mingled  with 
shadows  or  tinted  with  sunset  reds  athwart  the  leaves 
which  gleam  like  the  colored  windows  of  a  chancel :  — 
then,  leaving  these  woods  so  cool  and  branchy,  behold  a 
chalk-land  lying  fallow,  where  among  the  warm  and 
cavernous  mosses  adders  glide  to  their  lairs,  or  lift 
their  proud  slim  heads.  Cast  upon  all  these  pictures 
torrents  of  sunlight  like  beneficent  waters,  or  the 
shadow  of  gray  clouds  drawn  in  lines  like  the  wrinkles 
on  an  old  man's  brow,  or  the  cool  tones  of  a  sky  faintly 
oranged  and  streaked  with  lines  of  a  paler  tint ;  then 
listen  —  you  will  hear  indefinable  harmonies  amid  a 
silence  which  blends  them  all. 

During  the  months  of  September  and  October  I  did 
not  make  a  single  bouquet  which  cost  me  less  than 
three   hours  search  ;  so  much  did  I  admire,  with  the 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  117 

ready  sympathy  of  a  poet,  these  fugitive  allegories 
which  pictured  to  m\r  mind  the  most  contrasting  aspects 
of  human  life,  that  vast  theatre  I  was  about  to  enter, 
the  scenes  of  which  my  memory  must  presently  recall. 
Often  do  I  now  compare  those  splendid  scenes  with 
memories  of  m}r  soul  thus  expending  itself  on  nature ; 
again  I  walk  that  valley  with  my  sovereign,  whose 
white  robe  brushed  the  coppice  and  floated  on  the  green 
sward,  whose  spirit  rose,  like  a  promised  fruit,  from 
each  calyx  filled  with  amorous  stamens. 

No  declaration  of  love,  no  vows  of  uncontrollable 
passion  ever  conveyed  more  than  these  symphonies  of 
flowers  ;  my  baffled  desires  impelled  me  to  efforts  of  ex- 
pression through  them  like  those  of  Beethoven  through 
his  notes,  to  the  same  bitter  reactions,  to  the  same 
might}'  bounds  towards  heaven.  In  their  presence 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  my  Henriette.  She  looked 
at  them  constantly ;  they  fed  her  spirit,  she  gathered 
all  the  thoughts  I  had  given  them,  saying,  as  she 
raised  her  head  from  the  embroidety  frame  to  receive 
my  gift,  "  Ah,  how  beautiful !  " 

Natalie,  yon  will  understand  this  delightful  inter- 
course through  the  details  of  a  bouquet,  just  as  you 
would  comprehend  Saadi  from  a  fragment  of  his  verse. 
Have  you  ever  smelt  in  the  fields- in  the  month  of  May 
the  perfume  that  communicates  to  all  created  beings  the 
intoxicating  sense  of  a  new  creation  ;  the  sense  that 
makes  30U  trail  your  hand  in  the  water  from  a  boat, 
and  loosen  your  hair  to  the  breeze  while  your  mind 
revives  with  the  springtide  greeneiy  of  the  trees?  A 
little  plant,  a  species  of  vernal  grass,  is  a  powerful  ele- 
ment in  this  veiled  harmonv ;  it  cannot  be  worn  with 


118  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

impunity  ;  take  into  jour  hand  its  shining  blade,  striped 
green  and  white  like  a  silken  robe,  and  mysterious  emo- 
tions will  stir  the  rosebuds  your  modesty  keeps  hidden 
in  the  depths  of  your  heart.  Round  the  neck  of  a  porce- 
lain vase  imagine  a  broad  margin  of  the  gray-white  tufts 
peculiar  to  the  sedum  of  the  vineyards  of  Touraine,  vague 
image  of  submissive  forms ;  from  this  foundation  come 
tendrils  of  the  bind-weed  with  its  silver  bells,  sprays  of 
pink  rest-barrow  mingled  with  a  few  young  shoots  of 
oak-leaves,  lustrous  and  magnificently  colored ;  these 
creep  forth  prostrate,  humble  as  the  weeping-willow, 
timid  and  supplicating  as  prayer.  Above,  see  those 
delicate  threads  of  the  purple  amoret,  with  its  flood  of 
anthers  that  are  nearly  yellow ;  the  snow}T  pyramids  of 
the  meadow-sweet,  the  green  tresses  of  the  wild  oats,  the 
slender  plumes  of  the  agrostis,  which  we  call  wind-ear ; 
roseate  hopes,  decking  love's  earliest  dream  and  stand- 
ing forth  against  the  gray  surroundings.  But  higher 
still,  remark  the  Bengal  roses,  sparsely  scattered  among 
the  laces  of  the  daucus,  the  plumes  of  the  linaria,  the 
marabouts  of  the  meadow-queen  ;  see  the  umbels  of  the 
nryrrh,  the  spun  glass  of  the  clematis  in  seed,  the  dainty 
petals  of  the  cross-wort,  white  as  milk,  the  corymbs  of 
the  yarrow,  the  spreading  stems  of  the  fumitory  with 
their  black  and  rosy  blossoms,  the  tendrils  of  the  grape, 
the  twisted  shoots  of  the  honeysuckle  ;  in  short,  all  the 
innocent  creatures  have  that  is  most  tangled,  way- 
ward,  wild,  —  flames  and  triple  darts,  leaves  lanceo- 
lated  or  jagged,  stalks  convoluted  like  passionate  de- 
sires writhing  in  the  soul.  From  the  bosom  of  this 
:  torrent  of  love  rises  the  scarlet  popp}T,  its  tassels 
j    about  to  open,  spreading  its  flaming  flakes  above  the 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  119 

starry  jessamine,  dominating  the  rain  of  pollen  —  that 
soft  mist  fluttering  in  the  air  and  reflecting  the  light 
in  its  myriad  particles.  What  woman  intoxicated  with 
the  odor  of  the  vernal  grasses  would  fail  to  understand 
this  wealth  of  offered  thoughts,  these  ardent  desires  of 
a  love  demanding  the  happiness  refused  in  a  hundred 
struggles  which  passion  still  renews,  continuous,  un- 
wearying, eternal ! 

Put  this  speech  of  the  flowers  in  the  light  of  a  win- 
dow to  show  its  crisp  details,  its  delicate  contrasts,  its 
arabesques  of  color,  and  allow  the  sovereign  lady  to  see 
a  tear  upon  some  petal  more  expanded  than  the  rest. 
What  do  we  give  to  God?  perfumes,  light,  and  song, 
the  purest  expression  of  our  nature.  Well,  these  offer- 
ings to  God,  are  they  not  likewise  offered  to  love  in  this 
poem  of  luminous  flowers  murmuring  their  sadness  to 
the  heart,  cherishing  its  hidden  transports,  its  unuttered 
hopes,  its  illusions  which  gleam  and  fall  to  fragments 
like  the  gossamer  of  a  summer's  night? 

Such  neutral  pleasures  help  to  soothe  a  nature  irri- 
tated bj'  long  contemplation  of  the  person  beloved. 
They  were  to  me,  I  dare  not  sa}T  to  her,  like  those  fis- 
sures in  a  dam  through  which  the  water  finds  a  vent 
and  avoids  disaster.  /(Abstinence  brings  deadly  exhaus- 
tion, which  a  few  crumbs  falling  from  heaven,  like  manna 
in  the  desert,  suffices  to  relieve.)  Sometimes  I  found 
my  Henriette  standing  before  these  bouquets  with  pen- 
dent arms,  lost  in  agitated  revery,  thoughts  swelling 
her  bosom,  illumining  her  brow  as  they  surged  in 
waves  and  sank  again,  leaving  lassitude  and  languor 
behind  them.  Never  again  have  I  made  a  bouquet  for 
any  one.     When  she  and  I  had  created  this  language 


L 


120  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

and  formed  it  to  our  uses,  a  satisfaction  filled  our  souls 
like  that  of  a  slave  who  escapes  his  masters. 

During  the  rest  of  this  month  as  I  came  from  the 
meadows  through  the  gardens  I  often  saw  her  face  at 
the  window,  and  when  I  reached  the  salon  she  was 
ready  at  her  embroiden'  frame.  If  I  did  not  arrive  at 
the  hour  expected  (though  never  appointed),  I  saw  a 
white  form  wandering  on  the  terrace,  and  when  I  joined 
her  she  would  say,  '*  I  came  to  meet  you ;  I  must  show 
a  few  attentions  to  nary  3*oungest  child.'* 

The  miserable  games  of  backgammon  had  come  to  end. 
The  count's  late  purchases  took  all  his  time  in  going 
hither  and  thither  about  the  property,  surveying,  ex- 
amining, and  marking  the  boundaries  of  his  new  posses- 
sions. He  had  orders  to  give,  rural  works  to  overlook 
which  needed  a  master's  eye,  —  all  of  them  planned  and 
decided  on  b}'  his  wife  and  himself.  We  often  went  to 
meet  him,  the  countess  and  I,  with  the  children,  who 
amused  themselves  on  the  way  by  running  after  insects, 
stag-beetles,  darning-needles,  they  too  making  their 
bouquets,  or  to  speak  more  truly,  their  bundles  of 
flowers.  To  walk  beside  the  woman  we  love,  to  take 
her  on  our  arm,  to  guide  her  steps,  —  these  are  illimit- 
able joys  that  suffice  a  lifetime.  Confidence  is  then 
complete.  We  went  alone,  we  returned  with  the  "gen- 
eral," a  title  given  to  the  count  when  he  was  good- 
humored.  These  two  ways  of  taking  the  same  path 
gave  light  and  shade  to  our  pleasure,  a  secret  known 
onlj'  to  hearts  debarred  from  union.  Our  talk,  so  free 
as  we  went,  had  hidden  significations  as  we  returned, 
when  either  of  us  gave  an  answer  to  some  furtive  in- 
terrogation, or  continued  a  subject,  already  begun,  in 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  121 

the  enigmatic  phrases  to  which  our  language  lends  it- 
self, and  which  women  are  so  ingenious  in  composing. 
Who  has  not  known  the  pleasure  of  such  secret  un- 
derstandings in  a  sphere  apart  from  those  about  us,  a 
sphere  where  spirits  meet  outside  of  social  laws? 

One  da}-  a  wild  hope,  quickly  dispelled,  took  posses- 
sion of  me,  when  the  count,  wishing  to  know  what  we 
were  talking  of,  put  the  inquiry,  and  Henriette  answered 
in  words  that  allowed  another  meaning,  which  satis- 
fied him.  This  amused  Madeleine,  who  laughed  ;  after 
a  moment  her  mother  blushed  and  gave  me  a  forbidding 
look,  as  if  to  say  she  might  still  withdraw  from  me  her 
soul  as  she  had  once  withdrawn  her  hand.  But  our 
purely  spiritual  union  had  far  too  man}'  charms,  and  on 
the  morrow  it  continued  as  before. 

The  hours,  days,  and  weeks  fled  by,  filled  with  re- 
nascent joys.  Grape  harvest,  the  festal  season  in 
Touraine,  began.  Toward  the  end  of  September  the 
sun,  less  hot  than  during  the  wheat  harvest,  allows  of 
our  staying  in  the  vineyards  without  danger  of  becom- 
ing overheated.  It  is  easier  to  gather  grapes  than  to 
mow  wheat.  Fruits  of  all  kinds  are  ripe,  harvests  are 
garnered,  bread  is  less  dear  ;  the  sense  of  plenty  makes 
the  country  people  happ}-.  Fears  as  to  the  results  of 
rural  toil,  in  which  more  money  than  sweat  is  often 
spent,  vanish  before  a  full  granary  and  cellars  about  to 
overflow.  The  vintage  is  then  like  a  gay  dessert  after 
the  dinner  is  eaten  ;  the  skies  of  Touraine,  where  the 
autumns  are  always  magnificent,  smile  upon  it.  In  this 
hospitable  land  the  vintagers  are  fed  and  lodged  in  the 
master's  house.  The  meals  are  the  only  ones  through- 
out the  3-car  when  these  poor  people  taste  substantial, 


122  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

well-cooked  food ;  and  they  cling  to  the  custom  as  the 
children  of  patriarchal  families  cling  to  anniversaries.  As 
the  time  approaches  they  flock  in  crowds  to  those  houses 
where  the  masters  are  known  to  treat  the  laborers  lib- 
erally. The  house  is  full  of  people  and  of  provisions. 
The  presses  are  open.  The  country  is  alive  with  the 
coming  and  going  of  itinerant  coopers,  of  carts  filled 
with  laughing  girls  and  joyous  husbandmen,  who  earn 
better  wages  than  at  any  other  time  during  the  year, 
and  who  sing  as  they  go.  There  is  also  another  cause 
of  pleasurable  content :  classes  and  ranks  are  equal ; 
women,  children,  masters,  and  men,  all  that  little 
world,  share  in  the  garnering  of  the  divine  hoard. 
These  various  elements  of  satisfaction  explain  the  hi- 
larity of  the  vintage,  transmitted  from  age  to  age  in 
these  last  glorious  days  of  autumn,  the  remembrance 
of  which  inspired  Rabelais  with  the  bacchic  form  of 
his  great  work. 

The  children,  Jacques  and  Madeleine,  had  never  seen 
a  vintage ;  I  was  like  them,  and  they  were  full  of  in- 
fantine delight  at  finding  a  sharer  of  their  pleasure ; 
their  mother,  too,  promised  to  accompany  us.  We  went 
to  Villaines,  where  baskets  are  manufactured,  in  quest  of 
the  prettiest  that  could  be  bought ;  for  we  four  were  to 
cut  certain  rows  reserved  for  our  scissors  ;  it  was,  how- 
ever, agreed  that  none  of  us  were  to  eat  too  many 
grapes.  To  eat  the  fat  bunches  of  Touraine  in  a  vine- 
yard seemed  so  delicious  that  we  all  refused  the  finest 
grapes  on  the  dinner-table.  Jacques  made  me  swear  I 
would  go  to  no  other  vineyard,  but  stay  closely  at 
Clochegourde.  Never  were  these  -frail  little  beings, 
usually  pallid  and  ailing,  so  fresh  and  rosy  and  active 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  123 

as  they  were  this  morning.  They  chattered  for  chat- 
ter's sake,  and  trotted  about  without  apparent  object; 
the}r  suddenly  seemed,  like  other  children,  to  have  more 
life  than  the}'  needed  ;  neither  Monsieur  nor  Madame 
de  Mortsauf  had  ever  seen  them  so  before.  I  became 
a  child  again  with  them,  more  of  a  child  than  either 
of  them,  perhaps  ;  I,  too,  was  hoping  for  m}T  harvest.  It 
was  glorious  weather  when  we  went  to  the  vineyard,  and 
we  stayed  there  half  the  day.  How  we  disputed  as  to 
who  had  the  finest  grapes  and  who  could  fill  his  basket 
quickest !  The  little  human  shoots  ran  to  and  fro 
from  the  vines  to  their  mother ;  not  a  bunch  could  be 
cut  without  showing  it  to  her.  She  laughed  with  the 
good,  gay  laugh  of  her  girlhood  when  I,  running  up  with 
my  basket  after  Madeleine,  cried  out,  "  Mine  too  !  See 
mine,  mamma!"  To  which  she  answered:  "Don't 
get  overheated,  dear  child."  Then  passing  her  hand 
round  my  neck  and  through  my  hair,  she  added,  giving 
me  a  little  tap  on  the  cheek,  '*  You  are  melting  away." 
It  was  the  onlj'  caress  she  ever  gave  me.  I  looked  at 
the  pretty  line  of  purple  clusters,  the  hedges  full  of 
haws  and  blackberries ;  I  heard  the  voices  of  the 
children  ;  I  watched  the  trooping  girls,  the  cart  loaded 
with  barrels,  the  men  with  the  panniers.  Ah,  it  is  all 
engraved  on  my  memory,  even  to  the  almond-tree  be- 
side which  she  stood,  girlish,  rosy,  smiling,  beneath 
the  sunshade  held  open  in  her  hand.  Then  I  busied 
myself  in  cutting  the  bunches  and  filling  my  basket, 
going  forward  to  empty  it  in  the  vat,  silently,  with 
measured  bodily  movement  and  slow  steps  that  left 
my  spirit  free.  I  discovered  then  the  ineffable  pleas- 
ure of  an  external  labor  which  carries  life  along,  and 


124  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

thus  regulates  the  rush  of  passion,  often  so  near,  but 
for  this  mechanical  motion,  to  kindle  into  flame.  I 
learned  how  much  wisdom  is  contained  in  uniform 
labor ;   I  understood  monastic  discipline. 

For  the  first  time  in  many  days  the  count  was  neither 
Burly  nor  cruel.  His  son  was  so  well ;  the  future  Due 
de  Lenoncourt-Mortsauf,  fair  and  rosj'  and  stained  with 
grape-juice,  rejoiced  his  heart.  This  day  being  the  last 
of  the  vintage,"  he  had  promised  a  dance  in  front  of 
Clochegourde  in  honor  of  the  return  of  the  Bourbons,  so 
that  our  festival  gratified  everybody.  As  we  returned 
to  the  house,  the  countess  took  m\-  arm  and  leaned 
upon  it,  as  if  to  let  my  heart  feel  the  weight  of  hers,  — 
the  instinctive  movement  of  a  mother  who  seeks  to  con- 
ve}r  her  J03-.  Then  she  wrhispered  in  m}T  ear,  "  You 
bring  us  happiness." 

Ah,  to  me,  who  knew  her  sleepless  nights,  her  cares, 
her  fears,  her  former  existence,  in  which,  although  the 
hand  of  God  sustained  her,  all  was  barren  and  weari- 
some, those  words  uttered  by  that  rich  voice  brought 
pleasures  no  other  woman  in  the  world  could  give 
me. 

"The  terrible  monotony  of  nry  life  is  broken,  all 
things  are  radiant  with  hope,"  she  sai'd  after  a  pause. 
<w  Oh,  never  leave  me!  Do  not  despise  my  harmless 
superstitions ;  be  the  elder  son,  the  protector  of  the 
younger." 

In  this,  Natalie,  there  is  nothing  romantic.  To  know 
the  infinite  of  our  deepest  feelings,  we  must  in  j-outh  cast 
our  lead  into  those  great  lakes  upon  whose  shores  we 
live.  Though  to  man}-  souls  passions  are  lava  torrents 
flowing  among  arid  rocks,  other  souls  there  be  in  whom 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  125 

passion,  restrained  by  insurmountable  obstacles,  fills 
with  purest  water  the  crater  of  the  volcano. 

We  had  still  another  fete.  Madame  de  Mortsauf, 
wishing  to  accustom  her  children  to  the  practical  things 
of  life,  and  to  give  them  some  experience  of  the  toil  by 
which  men  earn  their  living,  had  provided  each  of  them 
with  a  source  of  income,  depending  on  the  chances  of 
agriculture.  To  Jacques  she  gave  the  produce  of  the 
walnut-trees,  to  Madeleine  that  of  the  chestnuts.  The 
gathering  of  the  nuts  began  soon  after  the  vintage,  — 
first  the  chestnuts,  then  the  walnuts.  To  beat  Made- 
leine's trees  with  a  long  pole  and  hear  the  nuts  fall  and 
rebound  on  the  dry,  matted  earth  of  a  chestnut-grove ; 
to  see  the  serious  gravity  of  the  little  girl  as  she  ex- 
amined the  heaps  and  estimated  their  probable  value, 
which  to  her  represented  many  pleasures  on  which  she 
counted ;  the  congratulations  of  Manette,  the  trusted 
servant  who  alone  supplied  Madame  de  Mortsauf's 
place  with  the  children  ;  the  explanations  of  the  mother, 
showing  the  necessity  of  labor  to  obtain  all  crops,  so 
often  imperilled  by  the  uncertainties  of  climate,  —  all 
these  things  made  up  a  charming  scene  of  innocent, 
childlike  happiness  amid  the  fading  colors  of  the  late 
autumn. 

Madeleine  had  a  little  granary  of  her  own,  in  which  I 
was  to  see  her  brown  treasure  garnered  and  share  her 
delight.  Well,  I  quiver  still  when  I  recall  the  sound  of 
each  basketful  of  nuts  as  it  was  emptied  on  the  mass 
of  yellow  husks,  mixed  with  earth,  which  made  the 
floor  of  the  granary.  The  count  bought  what  was 
needed  for  the  household ;  the  farmers  and  tenants,  in- 
deed, every  one  around  Clochegourde,  sent  buyers  to 


126  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

the  Miguonne,  a  pet  name  which  the  peasantry  give 
even  to  strangers,  but  which  in  this  case  belonged 
exclusively  to  Madeleine. 

Jacques  was  less  fortunate  in  gathering  his  walnuts. 
It  rained  for  several  days  ;  but  I  consoled  him  with  the 
advice  to  hold  back  his  nuts  and  sell  them  a  little  later. 
Monsieur  de  Chessel  had  told  me  that  the  walnut  trees 
in  the  Brehemont,  also  those  about  Amboise  and  Vou- 
vray,  were  not  bearing.  Walnut  oil  is  in  great  demand 
in  Touraine.  Jacques  might  get  at  least  fort}-  sous  for 
the  product  of  each  tree,  and  as  he  had  two  hundred 
the  amount  was  considerable ;  he  intended  to  spend  it 
on  the  equipment  of  a  pony.  This  wish  led  to  a  dis- 
cussion with  his  father,  who  bade  him  think  of  the  un- 
certaint}r  of  such  returns,  and  the  wisdom  of  creating  a 
reserve  fund  for  the  years  when  the  trees  might  not  bear, 
and  so  equalizing  his  resources.  I  felt  what  was  pass- 
ing in  the  mother's  mind  as  she  sat  by  in  silence ;  she 
rejoiced  in  the  way  Jacques  listened  to  his  father,  the 
father  seeming  to  recover  the  paternal  dignity  that  was 
lacking  to  him,  thanks  to  the  ideas  which  she  herself 
had  prompted  in  him.  Did  I  not  tell  you  truly  that  in 
picturing  this  woman  earthly  language  was  insufficient 
to  render  either  her  character  or  her  spirit.  When 
such  scenes  occurred  my  soul  drank  in  their  delights 
without  analyzing  them ;  but  now,  with  what  vigor 
they  detach  themselves  on  the  dark  background  of  my 
troubled  life !  Like  diamonds  they  shine  against  the 
setting  of  thoughts  degraded  by  alio}',  of  bitter  regrets 
for  a  lost  happiness.  Why  do  the  names  of  the  two  es- 
tates purchased  after  the  Restoration,  and  in  which  Mon- 
sieur and  Madame  de  Mortsauf  both  took  the  deepest 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  127 

interest,  the  Cassine  and  the  Rhetoriere,  move  me  more 
than  the  sacred  names  of  the  Holy  Land  or  of  Greece? 
"  Who  loves,  knows  !  "  cried  La  Fontaine.  Those  names 
possess  the  talismanic  power  of  words  uttered  under 
certain  constellations  by  seers ;  the}T  explain  magic  to 
me ;  they  awaken  sleeping  forms  which  arise  and  speak 
to  me  ;  they  lead  me  to  the  happy  valley  ;  they  recreate 
skies  and  landscape.  But  such  evocations  are  in  the 
regions  of  the  spiritual  world  ;  thejr  pass  in  the  silence 
of  my  own  soul.  Be  not  surprised,  therefore,  if  I  dwell 
on  all  these  homely  scenes ;  the  smallest  details  of  that 
simple,  almost  common  life  are  ties  which,  frail  as  they 
ma}'  seem,  bound  me  in  closest  union  to  the  countess. 

The  interests  of  her  children  gave  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf  almost  as  much  anxiety  as  their  health.  I  soon 
saw  the  truth  of  what  she  had  told  me  as  to  her  secret 
share  in  the  management  of  the  family  affairs,  into 
which  I  became  slowly  initiated.  After  ten  years' 
steady  effort  Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  changed  the 
method  of  cultivating  the  estate.  She  had  "  put  it  in 
fours,"  as  the  saying  is  in  those  parts,  meaning  the  new 
S3'stem  under  which  wheat  is  sown  every  four  years 
only,  so  as  to  make  the  soil  produce  a  different  crop 
yearly.  To  evade  the  obstinate  unwillingness  of  the 
peasantry  it  was  found  necessaiy  to  cancel  the  old 
leases  and  give  new  ones,  to  divide  the  estate  into  four 
great  farms  and  let  them  on  equal  shares,  the  sort  of 
lease  that  prevails  in  Touraine  and  its  neighborhood. 
The  owner  of  the  estate  gives  the  house,  farm-buildings, 
and  seed-grain  to  tenants-at-will,  with  whom  he  divides 
the  costs  of  cultivation  and  the  crops.  This  division  is 
superintended  by  an  agent  or  bailiff,  whose  business  it 


128  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

*  is  to  take  the  share  belonging  to  the  owner ;  a  costly 
system,  complicated  by  the  market  changes  of  values, 
which  alter  the  character  of  the  shares  constantly.  The 
countess  had  induced  Monsieur  cle  Mortsauf  to  culti- 
vate a  fifth  farm,  made  up  of  the  reserved  lands  about 
Clochegourde,  as  much  to  occupy  his  mind  as  to  show 
other  farmers  the  excellence  of  the  new  method  by  the 
evidence  of  facts.  Being  thus,  in  a  hidden  wa}',  the 
mistress  of  the  estate,  she  had  slowly  and  with  a 
woman's  persistency  rebuilt  two  of  the  farm-houses  on 
the  principle  of  those  in  Artois  and  Flanders.  It  is 
easy  to  see  her  motive.  She  wished,  after  the  expira- 
tion of  the  leases  on  shares,  to  relet  to  intelligent  and 
capable  persons  for  rental  in  money,  and  thus  simplify 
the  revenues  of  Clochegourde.  Fearing  to  die  before  her 
husband,  she  was  anxious  to  secure  for  him  a  regular 
income,  and  to  her  children  a  property  which  no  inca- 
pacity could  jeopardize.  At  the  present  time  the  fruit- 
trees  planted  during  the  last  ten  years  were  in  full 
bearing ;  the  hedges,  which  secured  the  boundaries 
from  dispute,  were  in  good  order ;  the  elms  and  poplars 
were  growing  well.  With  the  new  purchases  and  the 
new  farming  system  well  under  way,  the  estate  of 
Clochegourde,  divided  into  four  great  farms,  two  of 
which  still  needed  new  houses,  was  capable  of  bringing 
in  forty  thousand  francs  a  year,  ten  thousand  for  eaeh 
farm,  not  counting  the  yield  of  the  vineyards,  and  the 
two  hundred  acres  of  woodland  which  adjoined  them, 
nor  the  profits  of  the  model  home-farm.  The  roads  to 
the  great  farms  all  opened  on  an  avenue  which  fol- 
lowed a  straight  line  from  Clochegourde  to  the  main 
road  leading  to  Chinon.     The  distance  from  the  en- 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  129 

trance  of  this  avenue  to  Tours  was  only  fifteen  miles ; 
tenants  would  never  be  wanting,  especially  now  that 
everybody  was  talking  of  the  count's  improvements  and 
the  excellent  condition  of  his  land. 

The  countess  wished  to  put  some  fifteen  thousand 
francs  into  each  of  the  estates  lately  purchased,  and  to 
turn  the  present  dwellings  into  two  large  farm-houses 
and  buildings,  in  order  that  the  property  might  bring 
in  a  better  rent  after  the  ground  had  been  cultivated 
for  a  year  or  two.  These  ideas,  so  simple  in  them- 
selves, but  complicated  with  the  thirty  odd  thousand 
francs  it  was  necessary  to  expend  upon  them,  were  just 
now  the  topic  of  many  discussions  between  herself  and 
the  count,  sometimes  amounting  to  bitter  quarrels,  in 
which  she  was  sustained  by  the  thought  of  her  chil- 
dren's interests.  The  fear,  "  If  I  die  to-morrow  what 
will  become  of  them  ? "  made  her  heart  beat.  The 
gentle,  peaceful  hearts  to  whom  anger  is  an  impossibil- 
ity, and  whose  sole  desire  is  to  shed  on  those  about 
them  their  own  inward  peace,  alone  know  what  strength 
is  needed  for  such  struggles,  what  demands  upon  the 
spirit  must  be  made  before  beginning  the  contest,  what 
weariness  ensues  when  the  fight  is  over  and  nothing  has 
been  won.  At  this  moment,  just  as  her  children  seemed 
less  anemic,  less  frail,  more  active  (for  the  fruit  season 
had  had  its  effect  on  them),  and  her  moist  eyes  fol- 
lowed them  as  they  played  about  her  with  a  sense  of 
contentment  which  renewed  her  strength  and  refreshed 
her  heart,  the  poor  woman  was  called  upon  to  bear  the 
sharp  sarcasms  and  attacks  of  an  angry  opposition. 
The  count,  alarmed  at  the  plans  she  proposed,  denied 
with  stolid  obstinacy  the  advantages  of  all  she  had  done 

9 


130  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

and  the  possibility  of  doing  more.  He  replied  to  con- 
clusive reasonings  with  the  folly  of  a  child  who  denies 
the  influence  of  the  sun  in  summer.  The  countess, 
however,  carried  the  day.  The  victory  of  common- 
sense  over  insanity  so  healed  her  wounds  that  she  for- 
got the  battle.  That  day  we  all  went  to  the  Cassine 
and  the  Rhetoriere,  to  decide  upon  the  buildings.  The 
count  walked  alone  in  front,  the  children  went  next, 
and  we  ourselves  followed  slowly,  for  she  was  speak- 
ing in  a  low,  gentle  tone,  which  made  her  words  like  the 
murmur  of  the  sea  as  it  ripples  on  a  smooth  beach. 

She  was,  she  said,  certain  of  success.  A  new  line 
of  communication  between  Tours  and  Chinon  was  to 
be  opened  by  an  active  man,  a  carrier,  a  cousin  of 
Manette's,  who  wanted  a  large  farm  on  the  route.  His 
family  was  numerous ;  the  eldest  son  would  drive  the 
carts,  the  second  could  attend  to  the  business,  the  father 
living  half-wa}'  along  the  road,  at  Rabelaye,  one  of  the 
farms  then  to  let,  would  look  after  the  relays  and  en- 
rich his  land  with  the  manure  of  the  stables.  As  to  the 
other  farm,  la  Baude,  the  nearest  to  Clochegourde,  one 
of  their  own  people,  a  worth}',  intelligent,  and  industri- 
ous man,  who  saw  the  advantages  of  the  new  system  of 
agriculture,  was  ready  to  take  a  lease  of  it.  The  Cas- 
sine and  the  Rhetoriere  need  give  no  anxiety ;  their  soil 
was  the  very  best  in  the  neighborhood  ;  the  farm-houses 
once  built,  and  the  ground  brought  into  cultivation,  it 
would  be  quite  enough  to  advertise  them  at  Tours  ;  ten- 
ants would  soon  apply  for  them.  In  two  3Tears'  time 
Clochegourde  would  be  worth  at  least  twenty-four  thou- 
sand francs  a  year.  Gravelotte,  the  farm  in  Maine, 
which   Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  had  recovered  after  the 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  131 

emigration,  was  rented  for  seven  thousand  francs  a 
year  for  nine  years  ;  his  pension  was  four  thousand. 
This  income  might  not  be  a  fortune,  but  it  was  cer- 
tainly a  competence.  Later,  other  additions  to  it  might 
enable  her  to  go  to  Paris  and  attend  to  Jacques'  educa- 
tion ;  in  two  years,  she  thought,  his  health  would  be 
established. 

With  what  feeling  she  uttered  the  word  "  Paris  !  "  I 
knew  her  thought ;  she  wished  to  be  as  little  separated 
as  possible  from  her  friend.  On  that  I  broke  forth ;  I 
told  her  that  she  did  not  know  me  ;  that  without  talking 
of  it,  I  had  resolved  to  finish  my  education  b}^  working 
da}'  and  night  so  as  to  fit  myself  to  be  Jacques'  tutor. 
She  looked  grave. 

"  No,  Felix,  she  said,  "  that  cannot  be,  any  more  than 
your  priesthood.  I  thank  you  from  my  heart  as  a 
mother,  but  as  a  woman  who  loves  you  sincerelv  I 
can  never  allow  you  to  be  the  victim  of  your  attach- 
ment to  me.  Such  a  position  would  be  a  social  dis- 
credit to  you,  and  I  could  not  allow  it.  No !  I  cannot 
be  an  injury  to  you  in  an\T  way.  You,  Vicomte  de  Van- 
denesse,  a  tutor!  You,  whose  motto  is  Ne  se  vend! 
Were  you  Richelieu  himself  it  would  bar  your  way  in 
life  ;  it  would  give  the  utmost  pain  to  your  family. 
My  friend,  }7ou  do  not  -know  what  insult  women  of 
the  world,  like  nry  mother,  can  put  into  a  patronizing 
glance,  what  degradation  into  a  word,  what  contempt 
into  a  bow." 

"  But  if  you  love  me,  what  is  the  world  to  me?" 
She  pretended  not  to  hear,  and  went  on :  — 
''Though   m}r  father  is  most  kind  and  desirous  of 
doing  all  I   ask,  he  would  never  forgive  your  taking 


132  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

so  bumble  a  position  ;  he  would  refuse  you  his  protec- 
tion. I  could  not  consent  to  your  becoming  tutor  to  the 
Dauphin  even.  You  must  accept  society  as  it  is  ;  never 
commit  the  fault  of  flying  in  the  face  of  it.  My  friend, 
this  rash  proposal  of — " 

"Love,"  I  whispered. 

*•  No,  charity,"  she  said,  controlling  her  tears,  "  this 
wild  idea  enlightens  me  as  to  your  character ;  your 
heart  will  be  your  bane.  I  shall  claim  from  this  mo- 
ment the  right  to  teach  you  certain  things.  Let  my 
woman's  eye  see  for  you  sometimes.  Yes,  from  the 
solitudes  of  Clochegourde  I  mean  to  share,  silently, 
contentedl}*,  in  3*0111*  successes.  As  to  a  tutor,  do  not 
fear ;  we  shall  find  some  good  old  abbe,  some  learned 
Jesuit,  and  my  father  will  gladly  devote  a  handsome 
sum  to  the  education  of  a  boy  who  is  to  bear  his  name. 
Jacques  is  my  pride.  He  is,  however,  eleven  years 
old,"  she  added  after  a  pause.  "  But  it  is  with  him  as 
with  you  ;  when  I  first  saw  you  I  took  you  to  be  about 
thirteen." 

We  now  reached  the  Cassine,  where  Jacques,  Made- 
leine, and  I  followed  her  about  as  children  follow  a 
mother ;  but  we  were  in  her  way  ;  I  left  her  presently 
and  went  into  the  orchard  where  Martineau  the  elder, 
keeper  of  the  place,  was  discussing  with  Martineau  the 
younger,  the  bailiff,  whether  certain  trees  ought  or  ought 
not  to  be  taken  down  ;  they  were  arguing  the  matter  as 
if  it  concerned  their  own  property.  I  then  saw  how 
much  the  countess  was  beloved.  I  spoke  of  it  to  a 
poor  laborer,  who,  with  one  foot  on  his  spade  and  an 
elbow  on  its  handle,  stood  listening  to  the  two  doctors 
of  pomology. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  133 

"  Ah,  yes,  monsieur,"  he  answered,  "  she  is  a  good 
woman,  and  not  hanght}T  like  those  hussies  at  Azay, 
who  would  see  us  die  like  dogs  sooner  than  yield  us 
one  penny  of  the  price  of  a  grave !  The  da}-  when 
that  woman  leaves  these  parts  the  Blessed  Virgin  will 
weep,  and  we  too.  She  knowTs  what  is  due  to  her,  but 
she  knows  our  hardships,  too,  and  she  puts  them  into 
the  account." 

With  what  pleasure  I  gave  that  man  all  the  money 
I  had. 

A  few  days  later  a  pony  arrived  for  Jacques,  his 
father,  an  excellent  horseman,  wishing  to  accustom  the 
child  by  degrees  to  the  fatigues  of  such  exercise.  The 
boy  had  a  pretty  riding-dress,  bought  with  the  pro- 
duct of  the  nuts.  The  morning  when  he  took  his  first 
lesson  accompanied  by  his  father  and  by  Madeleine, 
who  jumped  and  shouted  about  the  lawn  round  which 
Jacques  was  riding,  was  a  great  maternal  festival  for 
the  countess.  The  boy  wore  a  collar  embroidered  by 
her,  a  little  sky-blue  overcoat  fastened  by  a  polished 
leather  belt,  a  pair  of  white  trousers  pleated  at  the 
waist,  and  a  Scotch  cap,  from  which  his  fair  hair  flowed 
in  heav}T  locks.  He  was  charming  to  behold.  All  the 
servants  clustered  round  to  share  the  domestic  jo}\ 
The  little  heir  smiled  at  his  mother  as  he  passed  her, 
sitting  erect,  and  quite  fearless.  This  first  manty  act 
of  a  child  to  whom  death  had  often  seemed  so  near, 
the  promise  of  a  sound  future  warranted  by  this  ride 
which  showed  him  so  handsome,  so  fresh,  so  rosy,  — 
what  a  reward  for  all  her  cares !  Then  too  the  joy 
of  the  father,  who  seemed  to  renew  his  youth,  and  who 
smiled  for  the  first  time   in   many  long  months  ;    the 


134  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

pleasure  shown  on  all  faces,  the  shout  of  an  old  hunts- 
man of  the  Lenoncourts,  who  had  just  arrived  from 
Tours,  and  who,  seeing  how  the  boy  held  the  reins, 
shouted  to  him,  "Bravo,  monsieur  le  vicomte  !  "  —  all 
this  was  too  much  for  the  poor  mother,  and  she  burst 
into  tears ;  she,  so  calm  in  her  griefs,  was  too  weak 
to  bear  the  J037  of  admiring  her  boy  as  he  bounded  over 
the  gravel,  where  so  often  she  had  led  him  in  the  sun- 
shine inwardly  weeping  his  expected  death.  She  leaned 
upon  my  arm  unreservedly,  and  said :  "  I  think  I  have 
never  suffered.     Do  not  leave  us  to-day." 

The  lesson  over,  Jacques  jumped  into  his  mother's 
arms ;  she  caught  him  and  held  him  tightly  to  her,  kiss- 
ing him  passionately.  I  went  with  Madeleine  to  ar- 
range two  magnificent  bouquets  for  the  dinner-table  in 
honor  of  the  3'oung  equestrian.  When  we  returned  to 
the  salon  the  countess  said  :  "  The  fifteenth  of  October 
is  certainly  a  great  day  with  me.  Jacques  has  taken 
his  first  riding  lesson,  and  I  have  just  set  the  last  stitch 
in  nry  furniture  cover." 

"Then,  Blanche,"  said  the  count,  laughing,  "  I  must 
pay  }Tou  for  it." 

He  offered  her  his  arm  and  took  her  to  the  first 
courtj-ard,  where  stood  an  open  carriage  which  her 
father  had  sent  her,  and  for  which  the  count  had  pur- 
chased two  English  horses.  The  old  huntsman  had  pre- 
pared the  surprise  while  Jacques  wTas  taking  his  lesson. 
We  got  into  the  carriage,  and  went  to  see  where  the  new 
avenue  entered  the  main  road  towards  Chinon.  As  we 
returned,  tlie  countess  said  to  me  in  an  anxious  tone,  "I 
am  too  happy  ;  to  me  happiness  is  like  an  illness,  —  it 
overwhelms  me  :  I  fear  it  may  vanish  like  a  dream." 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley,  135 

I  loved  her  too  passionate!}7  not  to  feel  jealous,  — I 
who  could  give  her  nothing !  In  my  rage  against  my- 
self I  longed  for  some  means  of  dying  for  her.  She 
asked  me  to  tell  her  the  thoughts  that  filled  my  eyes, 
and  I  told  her  honestty.  She  was  more  touched  than 
by  all  "her  presents  ;  then  taking  me  to  the  portico,  she 
poured  comfort  into  my  heart.  "  Love  me  as  ni}T  aunt 
loved  me,"  she  said,  "  and  that  will  be  giving  me  your 
life  ;  and  if  I  take  it,  must  I  not  ever  be  grateful  to 
you?" 

"It  was  time  I  finished  my  tapestry,"  she  added  as 
we  re-entered  the  salon,  where  I  kissed  her  hand  as  if  to 
renew  my  vows.  "  Perhaps  you  do  not  know,  Felix,  why 
I  began  so  formidable  a  piece  of  work.  Men  find  the 
occupations  of  life  a  great  resource  against  troubles ; 
the  management  of  affairs  distracts  their  mind  ;  but  we 
poor  women  have  no  support  within  ourselves  against 
our  sorrows.  To  be  able  to  smile  before  my  children 
and  my  husband  when  my  heart  was  heavy  I  felt  the 
need  of  controlling  my  inward  sufferings  by  some  ph3'si- 
cal  exercise.  In  this  way  I  escaped  the  depression 
which  is  apt  to  follow  a  great  strain  upon  the  moral 
strength,  and  likewise  all  outbursts  of  excitement.  The 
mere  action  of  lifting  m}T  arm  regularly  as  I  drew  the 
stitches  rocked  my  thoughts  and  gave  to  m}r  spirit  when 
the  tempest  raged  a  monotonous  ebb  and  flow  which 
seemed  to  regulate  its  emotions.  To  ever}T  stitch  I  con- 
fided nry  secrets,  —  you  understand  me,  do  you  not? 
Well,  while  doing  my  last  chair  I  have  thought  much, 
too  much,  of  3*011,  dear  friend.  What  you  ha^e  put  into 
3'our  bouquets  I  have  said  in  my  embroidery." 

The  dinner  was    lively.     Jacques,  like    all    children 


136  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

when  you  take  notice  of  them,  jumped  into  my  arms 
when  he  saw  the  flowers  I  had  arranged  for  him  as  a 
garland.  His  mother  pretended  to  be  jealous ;  ah, 
Natalie,  you  should  have  seen  the  charming  grace  with 
which  the  dear  child  offered  them  to  her.  In  the  after- 
noon we  played  a  game  of  backgammon,  I  alone  against 
Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  and  the  count  was 
charming.  The}*  accompanied  me  along  the  road  to 
Frapesle  in  the  twilight  of  a  tranquil  evening,  one  of 
those  harmonious  evenings  when  our  feelings  gain  in 
depth  what  they  lose  in  vivacity.  It  was  a'  day  of  days 
in  this  poor  woman's  life ;  a  spot  of  brightness  which 
often  comforted  her  thoughts  in  painful  hours. 

Soon,  however,  the  riding  lessons  became 'a  subject 
of  contention.  The  countess  justly  feared  the  count's 
harsh  reprimands  to  his  son.  Jacques  grew  thin,  dark 
circles  surrounded  his  sweet  blue  e,yes ;  rather  than 
trouble  his  mother,  he  suffered  in  silence.  I  advised 
him  to  tell  his  father  he  was  tired  when  the  count's  tem- 
per was  violent ;  but  that  expedient  proved  unavailing, 
and  it  became  necessary  to  substitute  the  old  huntsman 
as  a  teacher  in  place  of  the  father,  who  could  with 
difficulty  be  induced  to  resign  his  pupil.  Angiy 
reproaches  and  contentions  began  once  more ;  the 
count  found  a  text  for  his  continual  complaints  in  the 
base  ingratitude  of  women ;  he  flung  the  carriage, 
horses,  and  liveries  in  his  wife's  face  twenty  times  a 
day.  At  last  a  circumstance  occurred  on  which  a  man 
with  his  nature  and  his  disease  naturally  fastened 
eagerly.  The  cost  of  the  buildings  at  the  Cassine  and 
the  Rhetoriere  proved  to  be  half  as  much  again  as  the 
estimate.     This  news  was  unfortunately  given   in    the 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  137 

first  instance  to  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  instead  of  to  his 
wife.  It  was  the  ground  of  a  quarrel,  which  began 
mildly  but  grew  more  and  more  embittered  until  it 
seemed  as  though  the  count's  madness,  lulled  for  a 
short  time,  was  demanding  its  arrearages  from  the  poor 
wife. 

That  day  I  had  started  from  Frapesle  at  half-past 
ten  to  search  for  flowers  with  Madeleine.  The  child 
had  brought  the  two  vases  to  the  portico,  and  I  was 
wandering  about  the  gardens  and  adjoining  meadows 
gathering  the  autumn  flowers,  so  beautiful,  but  too  rare. 
Returning  from  my  final  quest,  I  could  not  find  my 
little  'lieutenant  with  her  white  cape  and  broad  pink 
sash  ;  but  I  heard  cries  within  the  house,  and  Madeleine 
presently  came  running  out. 

"  The  general,"  she  said,  crying  (the  term  with  her 
was  an  expression  of  dislike),  "the  general  is  scolding 
mamma ;  go  and  defend  her." 

I  sprang  up  the  steps  of  the  portico  and  reached  the 
salon  without  being  seen  b}^  either  the  count  or  his 
wife.  Hearing  the  madman's  sharp  cries  I  first  shut 
all  the  doors,  then  I  returned  and  found  Henriette  as 
white  as  her  dress. 

"  Never  marry,  Felix,"  said  the  count  as  soon  as  he 
saw  me;  "a  woman  is  led  by  the  devil;  the  most 
virtuous  of  them  would  invent  evil  if  it  did  not  exist ; 
they  are  all  vile." 

Then  followed  arguments  without  beginning  or  end. 
Harking  back  to  the  old  troubles,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
repeated  the  nonsense  of  the  peasantry  against  the  new 
system  of  farming.  He  declared  that  if  he  had  had  the 
management  of  Clochegourde  he  should  be  twice  as  rich 


138  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

as  he  now  was.  He  shouted  these  complaints  and 
insults,  he  swore,  he  sprang  about  the  room  knocking 
against  the  furniture  and  displacing  it ;  then  in  the 
middle  of  a  sentence  he  stopped  short,  complained  that 
his  very  marrow  was  on  fire,  his  brains  melting  away 
like  his  money,  his  wife  had  ruined  him  !  The  coun- 
tess smiled  and  looked  upward. 

14  Yes,  Blanche,"  he  cried,  "  you  are  m}'  executioner  ; 
3'ou  are  killing  me  ;  I  am  in  3-our  way  ;  you  want  to  get 
rid  of  me ;  you  are  a  monster  of  hypocrisy.  She  is 
smiling!     Do  you  know  why  she  smiles,  Felix?" 

I  kept  silence  and  looked  down. 

44  That  woman,"  he  continued,  answering  his  own 
question,  "denies  me  all  happiness;  she  is  no  more  to 
me  than  she  is  to  \ou,  and  yet  she  pretends  to  be  my 
wife !  She  bears  my  name  and  fulfils  none  of  the 
duties  which  all  laws,  human  and  divine,  impose 
upon  her ;  she  lies  to  God  and  man.  She  obliges  me  to 
go  long  distances,  hoping  to  wear  me  out  and  make  me 
leave  her  to  herself ;  I  am  displeasing  to  her,  she  hates 
me ;  she  puts  all  her  art  into  keeping  me  awa\-  from 
her ;  she  has  made  me  mad  through  the  privations  she 
imposes  on  me  —  for  everything  flies  to  my  poor  head  ; 
she  is  killing  me  by  degrees,  and  she  thinks  herself  a 
saint  and  takes  the  sacrament  every  month  !  " 

The  countess  was  weeping  bitterly,  humiliated  by  the 
degradation  of  the  man,  to  whom  she  kept  saying  for  all 
answer,   "Monsieur!  monsieur!   monsieur!" 

Though  the  count's  words  made  me  blush,  more  for 
him  than  for  Henriette,  they  stirred  my  heart  violently, 
for  they  appealed  to  the  sense  of  chastity  and  delicacy 
which  is  indeed  the  very  warp  and  woof  of  first  love. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  139 

"  She  is  virgin  at  my  expense,"  cried  the  count. 

At  these  words  the  countess  cried  out,  "  Monsieur  !  " 

44  What  do  you  mean  with  your  imperious  'Mon- 
sieur ! '  "  he  shouted.  "  Am  I  not  3-011  r  master?  Must 
I  teach  3-0U  that  I  am?" 

He  came  towards  her,  thrusting  forward  his  white 
wolfs  head,  now  hideous,  for  his  yellow  eyes  had  a 
savage  expression  which  made  him  look  like  a  wild 
beast  rushing  out  of  a  wood.  Henriette  slid  from  her 
chair  to  the  ground  to  avoid  a  blow,  which  however  was 
not  given ;  she  lay  at  full  length  on  the  floor  and  lost 
consciousness,  completely  exhausted.  The  count  was 
like  a  murderer  who  feels  the  blood  of  his  victim  spurt- 
ing in  his  face ;  he  stopped  short,  bewildered.  I  took 
the  poor  woman  in  m3T  arms,  and  the  count  let  me  take 
her,  as  though  he  felt  unworthy  to  touch  her ;  but  he 
went  before  me  to  open  the  door  of  her  bedroom  next 
the  salon,  —  a  sacred  room  I  had  never  entered.  I  put 
the  countess  on  her  feet  and  held  her  for  a  moment  in 
one  arm,  passing  the  other  round  her  waist,  while 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  took  the  eider-down  coverlet 
from  the  bed ;  then  together  we  lifted  her  and  laid  her, 
still  dressed,  on  the  bed.  When  she  came  to  herself 
she  motioned  to  us  to  unfasten  her  belt.  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  found  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  cut  through  it ;  I 
made  her  breathe  salts,  and  she  opened  her  e3'es.  The 
count  left  the  room,  more  ashamed  than  sorry.  Two 
hours  passed  in  perfect  silence.  Henriette's  hand  lay 
in  mine ;  she  pressed  it  to  mine,  but  could  not  speak. 
From  time  to  time  she  opened  her  eyes  as  if  to  tell  me 
by  a  look  that  she  wished  to  be  still  and  silent ;  then 
suddenty,  for  an  instant,  there  seemed  a  change ;  she 


140  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

rose  on  her  elbow  and  whispered,  "  Unhappy  man!  — 
ah  !  if  you  did  but  know  —  " 

She  fell  back  upon  the  pillow.  The  remembrance  of 
her  past  sufferings,  joined  to  the  present  shock,  threw 
her  again  into  the  nervous  convulsions  I  had  just 
calmed  by  the  magnetism  of  love,  —  a  power  then  un- 
known to  me,  but  which  I  used  instinctively.  I  held 
her  with  gentle  force,  and  she  gave  me  a  look  which 
made  me  weep.  When  the  nervous  motions  ceased  I 
smoothed  her  disordered  hair,  the  first  and  only  time 
that  I  ever  touched  it ;  then  I  again  took  her  hand  and 
sat  looking  at  the  room,  all  brown  and  graj',  at  the  bed 
with  its  simple  chintz  curtains,  at  the  toilet  table  draped 
in  a  fashion  now  discarded,  at  the  commonplace  sofa 
with  its  quilted  mattress.  What  poetiy  I  could  read 
in  that  room  !  What  renunciation  of  luxury  for  herself ; 
the  only  luxury  being  its  spotless  cleanliness.  Sacred 
cell  of  a  married  nun,  filled  with  holy  resignation  ;  its 
sole  adornments  were  the  crucifix  of  her  bed,  and  above 
it  the  portrait  of  her  aunt ;  then,  on  each  side  of  the 
holy  water  basin,  two  drawings  of  the  children  made  by 
herself,  with  locks  of  their  hair  when  they  were  little. 
What  a  retreat  for  a  woman  whose  appearance  in  the 
great  world  would  have  made  the  handsomest  of  her 
sex  jealous  !  Such  was  the  chamber  where  the  daughter 
of  an  illustrious  family  wept  out  her  days,  sunken  at 
this  moment  in  anguish,  and  denying  herself  the  love 
that  might  have  comforted  her.  Hidden,  irreparable 
woe !  Tears  of  the  victim  for  her  slayer,  tears  of  the 
sla}er  for  his  victim  !  When  the  children  and  waiting- 
woman  came  at  length  into  the  room  I  left  it.  The 
count  was  waiting  for  me  ;  he  seemed  to  seek  me  as  a 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  141 

mediating  power  between  himself  and  wife.  He 
caught  my  hands,  exclaiming,  "  Staj7,  sta}T  with  us, 
Felix  !  " 

"  Unfortunately,"  I  said,  "  Monsieur  de  Chessel  has 
a  party,  and  my  absence  would  cause  remark.  But  after 
dinner  I  will  return." 

He  left  the  house  when  I  did,  and  took  me  to  the 
lower  gate  without  speaking  ;  then  he  accompanied  me 
to  Frapesle,  seeming  not  to  know  what  he  was  doing. 
At  last  I  said  to  him,  "  For  heaven's  sake,  Monsieur  le 
comte,  let  her  manage  your  affairs  if  it  pleases  her,  and 
don't  torment  her." 

41  I  have  not  long  to  live,"  he  said  gravely;  "she 
will  not  suffer  long  through  me ;  my  head  is  giving 
way." 

He  left  me  in  a  spasm  of  involuntary  self-pity.  After 
dinner  I  returned  for  news  of  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  who 
was  already  better.  If  such  were  the  joys  of  marriage, 
if  such  scenes  were  frequent,  how  could  she  survive 
them  long?  What  slow,  unpunished  murder  was  this? 
During  that  day  I  understood  the  tortures  by  which  the 
count  was  wearing  out  his  wife.  Before  what  tribunal 
can  we  arraign  such  crimes?  These  thoughts  stunned 
me  ;  I  could  say  nothing  to  Henriette  by  word  of  mouth, 
but  I  spent  the  night  in  writing  to  her.  Of  the  three  or 
four  letters  that  I  wrote  I  have  kept  onty  the  beginning 
of  one,  with  which  I  was  not  satisfied.  Here  it  is,  for 
though  it  seems  to  me  to  express  nothing,  and  to  speak 
too  much  of  myself  when  I  ought  only  to  have  thought 
of  her,  it  will  serve  to  show  you  the  state  my  soul 
was  in :  — 


142  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

To  Madame  de  Mortsauf  : 

How  many  things  I  had  to  say  to  you  when  I  reached 
the  house !  I  thought  of  them  on  the  way,  but  I  forgot  them 
in  your  presence.  Yes,  when  I  see  you,  dear  Henriette,  I  find 
my  thoughts  no  longer  in  keeping  with  the  light  from  your 
soul  which  heightens  your  beauty;  then,  too,  the  happiness 
of  being  near  you  is  so  ineffable  as  to  efface  all  other  feel- 
ings. Each  time  we  meet  I  am  born  into  a  broader  life:  I 
am  like  the  traveller  who  climbs  a  rock  and  sees  before  him 
a  new  horizon.  Each  time  you  talk  with  me  I  add  new  treas- 
ures to  my  treasury.  There  lies,  I  think,  the  secret  of  long 
and  inexhaustible  affections.  I  can  only  speak  to  you  of 
yourself  when  away  from  you.  In  your  presence  I  am  too 
dazzled  to  see,  too  happy  to  question  my  happiness,  too  full  of 
you  to  be  myself,  too  eloquent  through  you  to  speak,  too  eager 
in  seizing  the  present  moment  to  remember  the  past.  You 
must  think  of  this  state  of  intoxication  and  forgive  me  its 
consequent  mistakes. 

When  near  you  I  can  only  feel.  Yet,  I  have  courage  to 
say,  dear  Henriette,  that  never,  in  all  the  many  joys  you  have 
given  me,  never  did  I  taste  such  joy  as  filled  my  soul  when, 
after  that  dreadful  storm  through  which  you  struggled  with 
superhuman  courage,  you  came  to  yourself  alone  with  me,  in 
the  twilight  of  your  chamber  where  that  unhappy  scene  had 
brought  me.  I  alone  know  the  light  that  shines  from  a 
woman  when  through  the  portals  of  death  she  re-enters  life 
with  the  dawn  of  a  rebirth  tinting  her  brow.  What  har- 
monies were  in  your  voice !  How  words,  even  your  words, 
seemed  paltry  when  the  sound  of  that  adored  voice  —  in  it- 
self the  echo  of  past  pains  mingled  with  divine  consolations 
—  blessed  me  with  the  gift  of  your  first  thought.  I  knew 
you  were  brilliant  with  all  human  splendor,  but  yesterday  I 
found  a  new  Henriette,  who  might  be  mine  if  God  so  willed  ; 
I  beheld  a  spirit  freed  from  the  bodily  trammels  which  re- 
press the  ardors  of  the  soul.  Ah !  thou  wert  beautiful  in- 
deed in  thy  weakness,  majestic  in  thy  prostration.    Yesterday 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  143 

I  found  something  more  beautiful  than  thy  beauty,  sweeter 
than  thy  voice;  lights  more  sparkling  than  the  light  of  thine 
eyes,  perfumes  for  which  there  are  no  words  —  yesterday  thy 
soul  was  visible  and  palpable.  Would  I  could  have  opened  my 
heart  and  made  thee  live  there !  Yesterday  I  lost  the  respectful 
timidity  with  which  thy  presence  inspires  me  ;  thy  weakness 
brought  us  nearer  together.  Then,  when  the  crisis  passed 
and  thou  couldst  bear  our  atmosphere  once  more,  I  knew  what 
it  was  to  breathe  in  unison  with  thy  breath.  How  many 
prayers  rose  up  to  heaven  in  that  moment!  Since  I  did  not 
die  as  I  rushed  through  space  to  ask  of  God  that  he  would 
leave  thee  with  me,  no  human  creature  can  die  of  joy  nor 
yet  of  sorrow.  That  moment  has  left  memories  buried  in 
my  soul  which  never  again  will  reappear  upon  its  surface  and 
leave  me  tearless.  Yes,  the  fears  with  which  my  soul  was 
tortured  yesterday  are  incomparably  greater  than  all  sorrows 
that  the  future  can  bring  upon  me,  just  as  the  joys  which 
thou  hast  given  me,  dear  eternal  thought  of  my  life !  will  be 
forever  greater  than  any  future  joy  God  may  be  pleased  to 
grant  me.  Thou  hast  made  me  comprehend  the  love  divine, 
that  sure  love,  sure  in  strength  and  in  duration,  that  knows 
no  doubt  or  jealousy. 

Deepest  melancholy  gnawed  m}r  soul ;  the  glimpse 
into  that  hidden  life  was  agonizing  to  a  .young  heart 
new  to  social  emotions ;  it  was  an  awful  thing  to  find 
this  abyss  at  the  opening  of  life,  —  a  bottomless  abjjss, 
a  Dead  Sea.  This  dreadful  aggregation  of  misfortunes 
suggested  many  thoughts ;  at  my  first  step  into  social 
life  I  found  a  standard  of  comparison  b}-  which  all 
other  events  and  circumstances  must  seem  petty. 

The  next  da}'  when  I  entered  the  salon  she  was  there 
alone.  She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  held  out  her 
hand,  and  said,  "  My  friend  is  always  too  tender."  Her 


144  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

ej'es  grew  moist;  she  rose,  and  then  she  added,  in  a 
tone  of  desperate  entreat}7,  "Never  write  thus  to  me 
again/' 

Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  very  kind.  The  countess 
had  recovered  her  courage  and  serenit\' ;  but  her  pallor 
betrayed  the  sufferings  of  the  previous  night,  which 
were  calmed,  but  not  extinguished.  That  evening  she 
said  to  me,  as  she  paced  among  the  autumn  leaves  which 
rustled  beneath  our  footsteps,  "  Sorrow  is  infinite  ;  joys 
are  limited,"  —  words  which  betraj-ed  her  sufferings  by 
the  comparison  she  made  with  the  fleeting  delights  of 
the  previous  week. 

"Do  not  slander  life,"  I  said  to  her.  "You  are 
ignorant  of  love  ;  love  gives  happiness  which  shines  in 
heaven." 

"  Hush  !  "  she  said.  "  I  wish  to  know  nothing  of  it. 
The  Icelander  would  die  in  Italy.  I  am  calm  and 
happy  beside  yon  ;  I  can  tell  you  all  my  thoughts ;  do 
not  destroy  my  confidence.  Why  will  you  not  combine 
the  virtue  of  the  priest  with  the  charm  of  a  free  man." 

"  You  make  me  drink  the  hemlock !  "  I  cried,  taking 
her  hand  and  laying  it  on  my  heart,  which  was  beating 
fast. 

"Again!"  she  said,  withdrawing  her  hand  as  if  it 
pained  her.  "  Are  you  determined  to  deny  me  the  sad 
comfort  of  letting  my  wounds  be  stanched  by  a  friendly 
hand  ?  Do  not  add  to  my  sufferings  ;  you  do  not  know 
them  all ;  those  that  are  hidden  are  the  worst  to  bear. 
If  3'ou  were  a  woman  3'ou  would  know  the  melancholy 
disgust  that  fills  her  soul  when  she  sees  herself  the 
object  of  attentions  w^ich  atone  for  nothing,  but  are 
thought  to  atone  for  all.     For  the  next  few  davs  I  shall 


TJte  Lily  of  the    Valley.  145 

be  courted  and  caressed,  that  I  may  pardon  the  wrong 
that  has  been  done.  I  could  then  obtain  consent  to  any 
wish  of  mine,  however  unreasonable.  I  am  humiliated 
by  his  humility,  by  caresses  which  will  cease  as  soon  as 
he  imagines  I  have  forgotten  that  scene.  To  owe  our 
master's  good  graces  to  his  faults  —  " 

"  His  crimes  !  "  I  interrupted  quickly. 

"  Is  not  that  a  frightful  condition  of  existence?"  she 
continued,  with  a  sad  smile.  "  I  cannot  use  this  tran- 
sient power.  At  such  times  I  am  like  the  knights  who 
could  not  strike  a  fallen  adversary.  To  see  in  the  dust 
a  man  whom  we  ought  to  honor,  to  raise  him  only  to 
enable  him  to  deal  other  blows,  to  suffer  from  his  deg- 
radation more  than  he  suffers  himself,  to  feel  ourselves 
degraded  if  we  profit  b\r  such  influence  for  even  a  use- 
ful end,  to  spend  our  strength,  to  waste  the  vigor  of  our 
souls  in  struggles  that  have  no  grandeur,  to  have  no 
power  except  for  a  moment  when  a  fatal  crisis  comes  — 
ah,  better  death  !  If  I  had  no  children  I  would  let 
myself  drift  on  the  wretched  current  of  this  life  ;  but  if 
I  lose  m}'  courage,  what  will  become  of  them?  I  must 
live  for  them,  however  cruel  this  life  ma}-  be.  You  talk 
to  me  of  love.  Ah !  my  dear  friend,  think  of  the  hell 
into  which  I  should  fling  myself  if  I  gave  that  pitiless 
being,  pitiless  like  all  weak  creatures,  the  right  to  de- 
spise me.  |  The  purity  of  my  conduct  is  m}'  strength. 
Virtue,  dear  friend,  is  holy  water  in  which  we  gain 
fresh  strength,  from  which  we  issue  renewed  in  the 
love  of  God." 

'•  Listen  to  me,  dear  Henriette ;  I  have  only  another 
week  to  stay  here,  and  I  wish  —  " 

M  Ah,  you  mean  to  leave  us  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

10 


146  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

"  I  must  know  what  my  father  intends  to  do  with 
me,"  I  replied.     "  It  is  now  three  months  —  " 

"  I  have  not  counted  the  days,"  she  said,  with  mo- 
mentaiy  self-abandonment.  Then  she  cheeked  herself 
and  cried,  "  Come,  let  us  go  to  Frapesle." 

She  called  the  count  and  the  children,  sent  for  a 
shawl,  and  when  all  were  ready  she,  usually  so  calm 
and  slow  in  all  her  movements,  became  as  active  as  a 
Parisian,  and  we  started  in  a  body  to  pay  a  visit  at 
Frapesle  which  the  countess  did  not  owe.  She  forced 
herself  to  talk  to  Madame  de  Chessel,  who  was  fortu- 
nately discursive  in  her  answers.  The  count  and  Mon- 
sieur de  Chessel  conversed  on  business.  I  was  afraid 
the  former  might  boast  of  his  carriage  and  horses  ;  but 
he  committed  no  such  solecisms.  His  neighbor  ques- 
tioned him  about  his  projected  improvements  at  the 
Cassine  and  the  Rhetoriere.  I  looked  at  the  count, 
wondering  if  he  would  avoid  a  subject  of  conversation 
so  full  of  painful  memories  to  all,  so  cruelly  mortifying 
to  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  explained  how  urgent  a 
duty  it-was  to  better  the  agricultural  condition  of  the 
canton,  to  build  good  houses  and  make  the  premises 
salubrious  ;  in  short,  he  glorified  himself  with  his  wife's 
ideas.  I  blushed  as  I  looked  at  her.  Such  want  of 
scruple  in  a  man  who,  on  certain  occasions,  could  be 
scrupulous  enough,  this  oblivion  of  the  dreadful  scene, 
this  adoption  of  ideas  against  which  he  had  fought  so 
violently,  this  confident  belief  in  himself,  petrified  me. 

When  Monsieur  de  Chessel  said  to  him,  "  Do  you 
expect  to  recover  your  outlay  ?  " 

"  More  than  recover  it !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  confi- 
dent gesture. 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  147 

Such  contradictions  can  be  explained  only  by  the 
word  insanity.  Henriette,  celestial  creature,  was  radi- 
ant. The  count  was  appearing  to  be  a  man  of  intelli- 
gence, a  good  administrator,  an  excellent  agriculturist ; 
she  played  with  her  boy's  early  head,  joyous  for  him, 
happy  for  herself.  What  a  corned}'  of  pain,  what  mock- 
ery in  this  drama ;  I  was  horrified  03-  it.  Later  in  life, 
when  the  curtain  of  the  world's  stage  was  lifted  before 
me,  how  many  other  Mortsaufs  I  saw  without  the  loy- 
alty and  the  religious  faith  of  this  man.  What  strange, 
relentless  power  is  it  that  perpetually  awards  an  angel 
to  a  madman  ;  to  a  man  of  heart,  of  true  poetic  passion, 
a  base  woman  ;  to  the  petty,  grandeur ;  to  this  de- 
mented brain,  a  beautiful,  sublime  being ;  to  Juana, 
Captain  Diard,  whose  history  at  Bordeaux  I  have  told 
you  ;  to  Madame  de  Beauseant,  an  Ajuda  ;  to  Madame 
d'Aiglemont,  her  husband  ;  to  the  Marquis  d'Espard,  his 
wife  !  Long  have  I  sought  the  meaning  of  this  enigma. 
I  have  ransacked  many  mysteries,  I  have  discovered 
the  reason  of  many  natural  laws,  the  purport  of  some 
divine  hieroglyphics  ;  of  the  meaning  of  this  dark  secret 
I  know  nothing.  I  study  it  as  I  would  the  form  of  an 
Indian  weapon,  the  S3'mbolic  construction  of  which  is 
known  only  to  the  Brahinans.  In  this  dread  mysteiy 
the  spirit  of  Evil  is  too  visibly  the  master ;  I  dare  not 
lav  the  blame  to  God.  Anguish  irremediable,  what 
power  finds  amusement  in  weaving  you?  Can  Henriette 
and  her  mysterious  philosopher  be  right?  Does  their 
m3'sticism  contain  the  explanation  of  humanity? 

The  autumn  leaves  were  falling  during  the  last  few 
days  which  I  passed  in  the  valley,  days  of  lowering 
clouds,  which  do  sometimes  obscure  the  heaven  of  Tou- 


148  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

mine,  so  pure,  so  warm  at  that  fine  season.  The  even- 
ing before  nry  departure  Madame  de  Mortsauf  took  me 
to  the  terrace  before  dinner. 

u  My  dear  Felix,"  she  said,  after  we  had  taken  a 
turn  in  silence  under  the  leafless  trees,  "  3011  are  about 
to  enter  the  world,  and  I  wish  to  go  with  you  in  thought. 
Those  who  have  suffered  much  have  lived  and  known 
much.  Do  not  think  that  solitary  souls  know  nothing 
of  the  world  ;  on  the  contrary,  the}'  are  able  to  judge  it. 
Hear  me  :  If  I  am  to  live  in  and  for  m}r  friend  I  must  do 
what  I  can  for  his  heart  and  for  his  conscience.  When 
the  conflict  rages  it  is  hard  to  remember  rules ;  therefore 
let  me  give  3'ou  a  few  instructions,  the  warnings  of  a 
mother  to  her  son.  The  day  you  leave  us  I  shall  give 
you  a  letter,  a  long  letter,  in  which  you  will  find  my 
woman's  thoughts  on  the  world,  on  societ}',  on  men, 
on  the  right  methods  of  meeting  difficulty  in  this  great 
clash  of  human  interests.  Promise  me  not  to  read  this 
letter  till  you  reach  Paris.  I  ask  it  from  a  fanciful 
sentiment,  one  of  those  secrets  of  womanhood  not  im- 
possible to  understand,  but  which  we  grieve  to  find  de- 
ciphered ;  leave  me  this  covert  way  where  as  a  woman  I 
wish  to  walk  alone." 

"  Yes,  I  promise  it,"  I  said,  kissing  her  hand. 

"  Ah,"  she  added,  "  I  have  one  more  promise  to  ask 
of  you  ;   but  grant  it  first." 

M  Yes,  yes  !  "  I  cried,  thinking  it  was  surely  a  promise 
of  fidelity. 

"  It  does  not  concern  myself,"  she  said  smiling,  with 
some  bitterness.  "  Felix,  do  not  gamble  in  any  house, 
no  matter  whose  it  be  ;  I  except  none." 

"  I  will  never  play  at  all,"  I  replied. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  149 

44  Good,"  she  said.  "  I  have  found  a  better  use  for 
your  time  than  to  waste  it  on  cards.  The  end  will  be 
that  where  others  must  sooner  or  later  be  losers  30U 
will  invariably  win." 

44  How  so?" 

14  The  letter  will  tell  you,"  she  said,  with  a  playful 
smile,  which  took  from  her  advice  the  serious  tone  which 
might  certainly  have  been  that  of  a  grandfather. 

The  countess  talked  to  me  for  an  hour,  and  proved  the 
depth  of  her  affection  by  the  study  she  had  made  of  my 
nature  during  the  last  three  months.  She  penetrated 
the  recesses  of  my  heart,  entering  it  with  her  own  ;  the 
tones  of  her  voice  were  changeful  and  convincing ;  the 
words  fell  from  maternal  lips,  showing  b}'  their  tone  as 
well  as  by  their  meaning  how  many  ties  already-  bound 
us  to  each  other. 

"If  you  knew,"  she  said  in  conclusion,  "with  what 
anxiety  I  shall  follow  3'our  course,  what  jo}r  I  shall  feel 
if  you  walk  straight,  what  tears  I  must  shed  if  30U 
strike  against  the  angles !  Believe  that  my  affection 
has  no  equal ;  it  is  involuntary  and  }'et  deliberate.  Ah, 
I  would  that  I  might  see  3-011  happy,  powerful,  respected, 
—  3Tou  who  are  to  me  a  living  dream." 

She  made  me  weep,  so  tender  and  so  terrible  was 
she.  Her  feelings  came  boldly  to  the  surface,  yet  the3r 
were  too  pure  to  give  the  slightest  hope  even  to  a  young 
man  thirsting  for  pleasure.  Ignoring  my  tortured  flesh, 
she  shed  the  ra3's,  undeviating,  incorruptible,  of  the 
divine  love,  which  satisfies  the  soul  only.  She  rose  to 
heights  whither  the  prismatic  pinions  of  a  love  like 
mine  were  powerless  to  bear  me.  To  reach  her  a  man 
must  needs  have  won  the  white  wings  of  the  seraphim. 


150  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

"  In  all  that  happens  to  me  I  will  ask  myself,"  I  said, 
"  '  What  would  my  Hcnriette  say?' " 

**  Yes,  I  will  be  the  star  and  the  sanctuary  both,"  she 
said,  alluding  to  the  dreams  of  my  childhood. 

u  You  are  my  light  and  my  religion,"  I  cried  ;  "  tyou 
shall  be  my  all." 

"No,"  she  answered;  "I  can  never  be  the  source 
of  your  pleasures." 

She  sighed ;  the  smile  of  secret  pain  was  on  her 
lips,  the  smile  of  the  slave  who  momentarily  revolts. 
From  that  day  forth  she  was  to  me,  not  merely  my  be- 
loved, but  rmT  only  love  ;  she  was  not  in  my  heart  as  a 
woman  who  takes  a  place,  who  makes  it  hers  by  devo- 
tion or  by  excess  of  pleasure  given  ;  but  she  was  my 
heart  itself,  —  it  was  all  hers,  a  something  necessary 
to  the  play  of  my  muscles.  She  became  to  me  as 
Beatrice  to  the  Florentine,  as  the  spotless  Laura  to  the 
Venetian,  the  mother  of  great  thoughts,  the  secret  cause 
of  resolutions  which  saved  me,  the  support  of  m}*  future, 
the  light  shining  in  darkness  like  a  lily  in  a  wood.  Yes, 
she  inspired  those  high  resolves  which  pass  through 
flames,  which  save  the  thing  in  peril ;  she  gave  me  a  con- 
stanc}7  like  Coligny's  to  vanquish  conquerors,  to  rise 
above  defeat,  to  weary  the  strongest  wrestler. 

The  next  da}T,  having  breakfasted  at  Frapesle  and 
bade  adieu  to  my  kind  hosts,  I  went  to  Clochegourde. 
Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  arranged  to 
drive  with  me  to  Tours,  whence  I  was  to  start  the  same 
night  for  Paris.  During  the  drive  the  countess  was 
silent ;  she  pretended  at  first  to  have  a  headache  ;  then 
she  blushed  at  the  falsehood,  and  expiated  it  hy  saying 
that  she  could  not  see  me  go  without  regret.     The  count 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  151 

invited  me  to  stay  with  them  whenever,  in  the  absence 
of  the  Chessels,  I  might  long  to  see  the  vallej*  of  the 
Indre  once  more.  We  parted  heroically,  without  appar- 
ent tears  ;  but  Jacques,  who  like  other  delicate  children 
was  quickly  touched,  began  to  cr}*,  while  Madeleine, 
already  a  woman,  pressed  her  mother's  hand. 

44  Dear  little  one  !  "  said  the  countess,  kissing  Jacques 
passionately. 

When  I  was  alone  at  Tours  after  dinner  a  wild,  inex- 
plicable desire  known  only  to  young  blood  possessed 
me.  I  hired  a  horse  and  rode  from  Tours  to  Pont-de- 
Rtian  in  an  hour  and  a  quarter.  There,  ashamed  of  my 
folly,  I  dismounted,  and  went  on  foot  along  the  road, 
stepping  cautiously  like  a  spy  till  I  reached  the  terrace. 
The  countess  was  not  there,  and  I  imagined  her  ill ;  I 
had  kept  the  key  of  the  little  gate,  by  which  I  now  en- 
tered ;  she  was  coming  down  the  steps  of  the  portico 
with  the  two  children  to  breathe  in  sadly  and  slowly 
the  tender  melancholy  of  the  landscape,  bathed  at  that 
moment  in  the  setting  sun. 

44  Mother,  here  is  Felix,"  said  Madeleine. 

14  Yes,"  I  whispered  ;  "it  is  I.  I  asked  myself  why 
I  should  stay  at  Tours  while  I  still  could  see  }-ou  ;  why 
not  indulge  a  desire  that  in  a  few  days  more  I  could  not 
gratify." 

"He  won't  leave  us  again,  mother,"  cried  Jacques, 
jumping  round  me. 

44  Hush!"  said  Madeleine;  "if  you  make  such  a 
noise  the  general  will  come." 

44  It  is  not  right,"  she  said.     4'  What  folly  !  " 

The  tears  in  her  voice  were  the  payment  of  what 
must  be  called  a  usurious  speculation  of  love. 


152  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

"  I  had  forgotten  to  return  this  key,"  I  said 
smiling. 

4 'Then  3'ou  will  never  return,"  she  said. 

"Can  we  ever  be  realty  parted?"  I  asked,  with  a 
look  which  made  her  drop  her  eyelids  for  all  answer. 

I  left  her  after  a  few  moments  passed  in  that  happ}' 
stupor  of  the  spirit  where  exaltation  ends  and  ecstasy 
begins.  I  went  with  lagging  step,  looking  back  at 
every  minute.  When,  from  the  summit  of  the  hill,  I 
saw  the  valley  for  the  last  time  I  was  struck  with  the 
contrast  it  presented  to  what  it  was  when  I  first  came 
there.  Then  it  was  verdant,  then  it  glowed,  glowed 
and  blossomed  like  my  hopes  and  my  desires.  Initiated 
now  into  the  gloomy  secrets  of  a  familj',  sharing  the 
anguish  of  a  Christian  Niobe,  sad  with  her  sadness,  my 
soul  darkened,  I  saw  the  valley  in  the  tone  of  my  own 
thoughts.  The  fields  were  bare,  the  leaves  of  the 
poplars  falling,  the  few  that  remained  were  rusty,  the 
vine-stalks  were  burned,  the  tops  of  the  trees  were 
tan-colored,  like  the  robes  in  which  royalty  once  clothed 
itself  as  if  to  hide  the  purple  of  its  power  beneath  the 
brown  of  grief.  Still  in  harmony  with  my  thoughts,  the 
valley,  where  the  3-ellow  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were 
coldly  dying,  seemed  to  me  a  living  image  of  my  heart. 

To  leave  a  beloved  woman  is  terrible  or  natural,  ac- 
cording as  the  mind  takes  it.  For  my  part,  I  found 
myself  suddenly  in  a  strange  land  of  which  I  knew  not 
the  language.  I  was  unable  to  lay  hold  of  things  to 
which  nry  soul  no  longer  felt  attachment.  Then  it  was 
that  the  height  and  breadth  of  my  love  came  before  me  ; 
my  Henriette  rose  in  all  her  majesty  in  this  desert  where 
I  existed  only  through  thoughts  of  her.     That  form  so 


V 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  153 


worshipped  made  me  vow  to  keep  myself  spotless  before 
nvy  soul's  divinity,  to  wear  ideally  the  white  robe  of  the 
Levite,  like  Petrarch,  who  never  entered  Laura's  pres- 
ence unless  clothed  in  white.  With  what  impatience  I  / 
awaited  the  first  night  of  my  return  to  m}-  father's  roof, 
when  I  could  read  the  letter  which  I  felt  of  during 
the  journey  as  a  miser  fingers  the  bank-bills  he  carries 
about  him.  During  the  night  I  kissed  the  paper  on 
which  my  Henriette  had  manifested  her  will ;  1  sought 
to  gather  the  mysterious  emanations  of  her  hand,  to  re- 
cover the  intonations  of  her  voice  in  the  hush  of  my 
being.  Since  then  I  have  never  read  her  letters  except 
as  I  read  that  first  letter ;  in  bed,  amid  total  silence.  I 
cannot  understand  how  the  letters  of  our  beloved  can 
be  read  in  any  other  way  ;  yet  there  are  men,  unworth}* 
to  be  loved,  who  read  such  letters  in  the  turmoil  of  the 
da}*,  laying  them  aside  and  taking  them  up  again  with 
odious  composure. 

Here,  Natalie,  is  the  voice  which  echoed  through  the 
silence  of  that  night.  Behold  the  noble  figure  which 
stood  before  me  and  pointed  to  the  right  path  among 
the  cross-ways  at  which  I  stood. 

To  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  Felix  de  Vandenesse  : 

What  happiness  for  me,  dear  friend,  to  gather  the 
scattered  elements  of  my  experience  that  I  ma}'  arm 
you  against  the  dangers  of  the  world,  through  which  I 
pray  that  you  pass  scathless.  I  have  felt  the  highest 
pleasures  of  maternal  love  as  night  after  night  I  have 
thought  of  these  things.  While  writing  this  letter,  sen- 
tence by  sentence,  projecting  my  thoughts  into  the  life 
you   are   about  to  lead,   I  went  often  to   my  window. 


154  The  Lily  of  the    VaUey. 

Looking  at  the  towers  of  Frapesle,  visible  in  the  moon- 
light, I  said  to  myself,  "  He  sleeps,  I  wake  for  him." 
Delightful  feelings  !  which  recall  the  happiest  of  my 
life,  when  I  watched  Jacques  sleeping  in  his  cradle  and 
waited  till  he  wakened,  to  feed  him  with  my  milk.  You 
are  the  man-child  whose  soul  must  now  be  strengthened 
by  precepts  never  taught  in  schools,  but  which  we 
women  have  the  privilege  of  inculcating.  These  pre- 
cepts will  influence  your  success  ;  the}'  prepare  the  way 
for  it,  they  will  secure  it.  Am  I  not  exercising  a  spirit- 
ual motherhood  in  giving  you  a  standard  by  which 
to  judge  the  actions  of  your  life ;  a  motherhood  com- 
prehended, is  it  not,  by  the  child?  Dear  Felix,  let 
me,  even  though  I  ma}'  make  a  few  mistakes,  let 
me  give  to  our  friendship  a  proof  of  the  disinterested- 
ness which  sanctifies  it. 

In  yielding  you  to  the  world  I  am  renouncing  you  ; 
but  I  love  you  too  well  not  to  sacrifice  my  happiness  to 
your  welfare.  For  the  last  four  months  you  have  made 
me  reflect  deeply  on  the  laws  and  customs  which  regu- 
late our  epoch.  The  conversations  I  have  had  with  my 
aunt,  well-known  to  3011  who  have  replaced  her,  the 
events  of  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf's  life,  which  he  has 
told  me,  the  tales  related  by  my  father,  to  whom  so- 
ciet}'  and  the  court  are  familiar  in  their  greatest  as  well 
as  in  their  smallest  aspects,  all  these  have  risen  in  my 
memory  for  the  benefit  of  1x13'  adopted  child  at  the  mo- 
ment when  he  is  about  to  be  launched,  well-nigh  alone, 
-among  men  ;  about  to  act  without  adviser  in  a  world 
where  many  are  wrecked  by  their  own  best  qualities 
thoughtlessly  displayed,  while  others  succeed  through 
a  judicious  use  of  their  worst. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  155 

I  ask  you  to  ponder  this  statement  of  my  opinion  of 
societ}-  as  a  whole  ;  it  is  concise,  for  to  yon  a  few  words 
are  sufficient. 

I  do  not  know  whether  societies  are  of  divine  origin 
or  whether  they  were  invented  by  man.  I  am  equalty 
ignorant  of  the  direction  in  which  they  tend.  What  I 
do  know  certainly  is  the  fact  of  their  existence.  No 
sooner  therefore  do  you  enter  societ}*,  instead  of  living 
a  life  apart,  than  you  are  bound  to  consider  its  condi- 
tions binding  ;  a  contract  is  signed  between  you.  Does 
society  in  these  days  gain  more  from  a  man  than  it 
returns  to  him?  I  think  so;  but  as  to  whether  the  in- 
dividual man  finds  more  cost  than  profit,  or  buys  too 
dear  the  advantages  he  obtains,  concerns  the  legislator 
only  ;  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  that.  In  my  judgment 
you  are  bound  to  obey  in  all  things  the  general  law, 
without  discussion,  whether  it  injures  or  benefits  your 
personal  interests.  This  principle  ma}7  seem  to  you  a 
very  simple  one,  but  it  is  difficult  of  application ;  it  is 
like  sap,  which  must  infiltrate  the  smallest  of  the 
capillary  tubes  to  stir  the  tree,  renew  its  verdure,  de- 
velop its  flowers,  and  ripen  fruit.  Dear,  the  laws  of 
societj7  are  not  all  written  in  a  book  ;  manners  and  cus- 
toms create  laws,  the  more  important  of  which  are  often 
the  least  known.  Believe  me,  there  are  neither  teach- 
ers, nor  schools,  nor  text-books  for  the  laws  that  are 
now  to  regulate  your  actions,  your  language,  your  visi- 
ble life,  the  manner  of  your  presentation  to  the  world, 
and  30111*  quest  of  fortune.  Neglect  those  secret  laws 
or  fail  to  understand  them,  and  you  stay  at  the  foot  of 
the  social  system  instead  of  looking  down  upon  it.  P>en 
though  this  letter  may  seem  to  you  diffuse,  telling  30U 


156  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

much  that  you  have  already  thought,  let  me  confide  to 
you  a  woman's  ethics. 

To  explain  society  on  the  theory  of  individual  happi- 
ness adroitly  won  at  the  cost  of  the  greater  number  is  a 
monstrous  doctrine,  which  in  its  strict  application  leads 
men  to  believe  that  all  the}'  can  secretly  laj'  hold  of  be- 
fore the  law  or  society  or  other  individuals  condemn  it 
as  a  wrong  is  honestly  and  fairly  theirs.  Once  admit 
that  claim  and  the  clever  thief  goes  free ;  the  woman 
who  violates  her  marriage  vow  without  the  knowledge 
of  the  world  is  virtuous  and  happy ;  kill  a  man,  leaving 
no  proof  for  justice,  and  if,  like  Macbeth,  you  win  a 
crown  }'ou  have  done  wisely ;  your  selfish  interests  be- 
come the  higher  law ;  the  only  question  then  is  how  to 
evade,  without  witnesses  or  proof,  the  obstacles  which 
law  and  morality  place  between  you  and  }'Our  self-in- 
dulgence. To  those  who  hold  this  view  of  society,  the 
problem  of  making  their  fortune,  my  dear  friend, 
resolves  itself  into  playing  a  game  where  the  stakes  are 
millions  or  the  galleys,  political  triumphs  or  dishonor. 
Still,  the  green  cloth  is  not  long  enough  for  all  the 
pla}-ers,  and  a  certain  kind  of  genius  is  needed  to  play 
the  game.  I  say  nothing  of  religious  beliefs,  nor  yet  of 
feelings ;  what  concerns  us  now  is  the  running-gear  of 
the  great  machine  of  gold  and  iron,  and  its  practical 
results  with  which  men's  lives  are  occupied.  Dear 
child  of  m}T  heart,  if  3011  share  my  horror  at  this 
criminal  theory  of  the  world,  society  will  present  to 
your  mind,  as  it  does  to  all  sane  minds,  the  opposite 
theory  of  duty.  Yes,  you  will  see  that  mail  owes  him- 
self to  man  in  a  thousand  differing  ways.  To  my 
mind,  the  duke  and  peer  owe  far  more  to  the  workman 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  157 

and  the  pauper  than  the  pauper  and  the  workman  owe 
to  the  duke.  The  obligations  of  duty  enlarge  in  pro- 
portion to  the  benefits  which  society  bestows  on  men  ; 
in  accordance  with  the  maxim,  as  true  in  social  politics 
as  in  business,  that  the  burden  of  care  and  vigilance  is 
eve r}r where  in  proportion  to  profits.  Each  man  pays 
his  debt  in  his  own  way.  When  our  poor  toiler  at  the 
Rhetoriere  comes  home  weary  with  his  day's  work  has 
he  not  done  his  duty  ?  Assuredly  he  has  done  it  better 
than  man}'  in  the  ranks  above  him. 

If  you  take  this  view  of  societ}',  in  which  you  are 
about  to  seek  a  place  in  keeping  with  your  intellect  and 
your  faculties,  you  must  set  before  you  as  a  generating 
principle  and  mainspring,  this  maxim :  never  permit 
yourself  to  act  against  either  your  own  conscience  or  the 
public  conscience.  Though  my  entreaty  may  seem  to 
you  superfluous,  yet  I  entreat,  yes,  your  Henriette  im- 
plores you  to  ponder  the  meaning  of  that  rule.  It 
seems  simple  but,  dear,  it  means  that  integrity,  loyalty, 
honor,  and  courtesy  are  the  safest  and  surest  instru- 
ments for  your  success.  In  this  selfish  world  you  will 
find  many  to  tell  you  that  a  man  cannot  make  his  way 
b}T  sentiments,  that  too  much  respect  for  moral  con- 
siderations will  hinder  his  advance.  It  is  not  so ;  you 
will  see  men  ill-trained,  ill-taught,  incapable  of  measur- 
ing the  future,  who  are  rough  to  a  child,  rude  to  an  old 
woman,  unwilling  to  be  irked  by  some  worthy  old  man  on 
the  ground  that  they  can  do  nothing  for  him  ;  later,  3-011 
will  find  the  same  men  caught  by  thorns  which  they  might 
have  rendered  pointless,  and  missing  their  triumph  for 
some  trivial  reason ;  whereas  the  man  who  is  early 
trained   to   a   sense   of  duty  does  not  meet  the  same 


158  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

obstacles  ;  he  ma}*  attain  success  less  rapidly,  but  when 
attained  it  is  solid  and  does  not  crumble  like  that  of 
others. 

When  I  show  you  that  the  application  of  this  doctrine 
demands  in  the  first  place  a  mastery  of  the  science  of 
manners,  you  may  think  my  jurisprudence  has  a  flavor  of 
the  court  and  of  the  training  I  received  as  a  Lenon- 
court.  My  dear  friend,  I  do  attach  great  importance  to 
that  training,  trifling  as  it  seems.  You  will  find  that 
the  habits  of  the  great  world  are  as  important  to  you  as 
the  wide  and  varied  knowledge  that  }'ou  possess 
Often  they  take  the  place  of  such  knowledge;  for  sore' 
really  ignorant  men,  born  with  natural  gifts  and  ac- 
customed to  give  connection  to  their  ideas,  have  been 
known  to  attain  a  grandeur  never  reached  b}'  others  far 
more  worthy  of  it.  I  have  studied  you  thoroughly, 
Felix,  wishing  to  know  if  }Tour  education,  derived 
wholly  from  schools,  has  injured  }Tour  nature.  God 
knows  the  joy  with  which  I  find  you  fit  for  that  fur- 
ther  education  of  which  I  speak. 

The  manners  of  many  who  are  brought  up  in  the 
traditions  of  the  great  world  are  purely  external ;  true 
politeness,  perfect  manners,  come  from  the  heart,  and 
from  a  deep  sense  of  personal  dignity.  This  is  why 
some  men  of  noble  birth  are,  in  spite  of  their  training, 
ill-mannered,  while  others,  among  the  middle  classes, 
have  instinctive  good  taste  and  onty  need  a  few  lessons 
to  give  them  excellent  manners  without  any  signs  of 
awkward  imitation.  (Believe  a  poor  woman  who  no 
longer  leaves  her  valle}'  when  she  tells  you  that  this 
dignity  of  tone,  -this  courteous  simplicity  in  words, 
in  gesture,  in  bearing,  and  even  in  the  character  of  the 


The  Lily  of  the    Vallnj.  159 

home,  is  a  living  and  material  poem,  the  charm  of  which 
is  irresistible ;  imagine  therefore  what  it  is  when  it 
takes  its  inspiration  from  the  heart.  Politeness,  dear, 
consists  in  seeming  to  forget  ourselves  for  others  ;  with 
many  it  is  social  Cant,  laid  aside  when  personal  self- 
interest  shows  its  cloven-foot ;  a  noble  then  becomes 
ignoble.  But  - — a»4~this  is  what  I  want  you  to  practise, 
Felix- —  true  politeness  involves  a  Christian  principle  ; 
it  is  the  flower  of  Love,  it  requires  that  we  forget  our- 
selves really.     In—memor}1  of  your  Henriette,  for  her 

#ke,  be  not  a  fountain  without  water,  have  the  essence 
a»»d  the  form  of  true  courtesy.  Never  fear  to  be  the 
dupe  and  victim  of  this  social  virtue  ;  3011  will  some 
da\-  gather  the  fruit  of  seeds  scattered  apparently  to  the 
winds. 

f  My  father  used  to  say  that  one  of  the  great  offences 
ofsham  politeness  was  the  neglect  of  promises.  When 
anything  is  demanded  of  3*011  that  you  cannot  do,  re- 
fuse positively  and  leave  no  loopholes  for  false  hopes  ; 
on  the  other  hand,  grant  at  once  whatever  you  are 
willing  to  bestow.  Your  prompt  refusal  will  make  you 
friends  as  well  as  your  prompt  benefit,  and  3-our 
character  will  stand  the  higher ;  for  it  is  hard  to  say 
whether  a  promise  forgotten,  a  hope  deceived  does  not 
make  us  more  enemies  than  a  favor  granted  brings  us 
friends.  \ 

Dear  friend,  there  are  certain  little  matters  on  which 
I  may  dwell,  for  I  know  them,  and  it  comes  within  my 
province  to  impart  them.  <Be  not  too  confiding,  nor 
frivolous,  nor  over  enthusiastic,  —  three  rocks  on  which 
3'outh  often  strikes.  \  Too  confiding  a  nature  loses  re- 
spect, frivolity  brings  contempt,  and  others  take  advan- 


160  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

tage  of  excessive  enthusiasm.  In  the  first  place,  Felix, 
you  will  never  have  more  than  two  or  three  friends  in 
the  course  of  3*our  life.  Your  entire  confidence  is  their 
right ;  to  give  it  to  man}'  is  to  betray  your  real  friends. 
If  you  are  more  intimate  with  some  men  than  with  others 
keep  guard  over  yourself;  be  as  cautious  as  though  you 
knew  they  would  one  da}T  be  your  rivals,  or  j'our  ene- 
mies ;  the  chances  and  changes  of  life  require  this. 
Maintain  an  attitude  which  is  neither  cold  nor  hot : 
find  the  medium  point  at  which  a  man  can  safely  hold 
intercourse  with  others  without  compromising  himself. 
Yes,  believe  me,  the  honest  man  is  as  far  from  the  base 
cowardice  of  Philinte  as  he  is  from  the  harsh  virtue  of 
Alceste.  The  genius  of  the  poet  is  displayed  in  the 
perception  which  he  forces  on  the  spectator's  mind  of 
this  true  medium  ;  certainly  all  minds  do  enjoy  more 
the  ridicule  of  virtue  than  the  sovereign  contempt  of 
easy-going  selfishness  which  underlies  that  picture  of 
it ;  but  all,  nevertheless,  are  prompted  to  keep  them- 
selves from  either  extreme. 

As  to  frivolit}',  if  it  causes  fools  to  proclaim  you  a 
charming  man,  others  who  are  accustomed  to  judge  of 
men's  capacities  and  fathom  character,  will  winnow  out 
your  tare  and  bring  you  to  disrepute,  for  frivolity  is  the 
resource  of  weak  natures,  and  weakness  is  soon  ap- 
praised in  a  society  which  regards  its  members  as  noth- 
ing more  than  organs  —  and  perhaps  justly,  for  nature 
herself  puts  to  death  imperfect  beings.  \  A  woman's 
protecting  instincts  may  be  roused  by  the  pleasure  she 
feels  in  supporting  the  weak  against  the  strong,  and  in 
leading  the  intelligence  of  the  heart  to  victoiy  over  the 
brutalitv  of  matter ;  but  societv.  less  a  mother  than   a 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  161 

stepmother,  adores  only  the  children  who  flatter  her 
vanity. 

As  to  ardent  enthusiasm,  that  first  sublime  mistake 
of  youth,  which  finds  true  happiness  in  using  its  powers, 
and  begins  by  being  its  own  dupe  before  it  is  the  dupe 
of  others,  keep  it  within  the  region  of  the  heart's  com- 
munion, keep  it  for  woman  and  for  God.  Do  not  hawk 
its  treasures  in  the  bazaars  of  society  or  of  politics, 
where  trumpery  will  be  offered  in  exchange  for  them. 
Believe  the  voice  which  commands  you  to  be  noble  in 
all  things  when  it  also  prays  you  not  to  expend  your 
forces  uselessly.  (Unhappily,  men  will  rate  you  accord- 
ing to  your  usefulness,  and  not  according  to  your 
worth.,)  To  use  an  imnge  which  I  think  will  strike 
your  poetic  mind,  let  a  cipher  be  what  it  may,  im- 
measurable in  size,  written  in  gold,  or  written  in  pencil, 
it  is  only  a  cipher  after  all.  A  man  of  our  times  has 
said,  "  No  zeal,  above  all,  no  zeal !  "  The  lesson  may 
be  sad,  but  it  is  true,  and  it  saves  the  soul  from  wasting 
its  bloom.  Hide  your  pure  sentiments,  or  put  them  in 
regions  inaccessible,  where  their  blossoms  may  be  pas- 
sionately admired,  where  the  artist  may  dream  amor- 
ously of  his  master-piece.  But  duties,  my  friend,  are 
not  sentiments.  To  do  what  we  ought  is  b}r  no  means 
to  do  what  we  like.  A  man  who  would  give  his  life  en- 
thusiastically for  a  woman  must  be  ready  to  die  coldly 
for  his  country. 

One  of  the  most  important  rules  in  the  science  of 
manners  is  that  of  almost  absolute  silence  about  our- 
selves. Play  a  little  comedy  for  your  own  instruction  ; 
talk  of  yourself  to  acquaintances,  tell  them  about  your 
sufferings,  your  pleasures,  your  business,  and  you  will 
11 


162  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

see  how  indifference  succeeds  pretended  interest;  then 
annoyance  follows,  and  if  the  mistress  of  the  house  does 
not  find  some  civil  way  of  stopping  you  the  compari}- 
will  disappear  under  various  pretexts  adroitly  seized. 
Would  you,  on  the  other  hand,  gather  sj'mpathies  about 
you  and  be  spoken  of  as  amiable  and  witt}T,  and  a  true 
friend  ?  talk  to  others  of  themselves,  find  a  way  to  bring 
them  forward,  and  brows  will  clear,  lips  will  smile,  and 
after  you  leave  the  room  all  present  will  praise  you. 
Your  conscience  and  the  voice  of  3'our  own  heart  will 
show  you  the  line  where  the  cowardice  of  flattery  begins 
and  the  courtesy  of  intercourse  ceases. 

One  word  more  about  a  young  man's  demeanor  in 
public.  My  dear  friend,  youth  is  always  inclined  to  a 
rapidity  of  judgment  which  does  it  honor,  but  also  in- 
juiy.  This  was  why  the  old  system  of  education  obliged 
3*oung  people  to  keep  silence  and  study  life  in  a  proba- 
tionary period  beside  their  elders.  Formerly,  as  you 
know,  nobility,  like  art,  had  its  apprentices,  its  pages, 
devoted  body  and  soul  to  the  masters  who  maintained 
them.  To-day  youth  is  forced  in  a  hot-house ;  it  is 
trained  to  judge  of  thoughts,  actions,  and  writings  with 
biting  severity  ;  it  slashes  with  a  blade  that  has  not 
been  fleshed.  Do  not  make  this  mistake.  Such  judg- 
ments will  seem  like  censures  to  many  about  3-011,  who 
would  sooner  pardon  an  open  rebuke  than  a  secret 
wound.  Young  people  are  pitiless  because  they  know 
nothing  of  life  and  its  difficulties.  The  old  critic  is 
kind  and  considerate,  the  3'oung  critic  is  implacable ; 
the  one  knows  nothing,  the  other  knows  all.  More- 
over, at  the  bottom  of  all  human  actions  there  is  a 
labyrinth   of  determining   reasons   on   which  God   re- 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  163 

serves  for  himself  the  final  judgment.  ,  Be  severe 
therefore  to  none  but  yourself. 

Your  future  is  before  you ;  but  no  one  in  the  world 
can  make  his  way  unaided.  Therefore,  make  use  of  my 
father's  house  ;  its  doors  are  open  to  you  ;  the  connec- 
tions that  you  will  create  for  yourself  under  his  roof  will 
serve  you  in  a  hundred  ways.  But  do  not  yield  an  inch 
of  ground  to  my  mother ;  she  will  crush  any  one  who 
gives  up  to  her,  but  she  will  admire  the  courage  of  who- 
ever resists  her.  She  is  like  iron,  which  if  beaten,  can 
be  fused  with  iron,  but  when  cold  will  break  everything 
less  hard  than  itself.  Cultivate  my  mother ;  for  if  she 
thinks  well  of  you  she  will  introduce  you  into  certain 
houses  where  you  can  acquire  the  fatal  science  of  the 
world,  the  art  of  listening,  speaking,  answering,  pre- 
senting yourself  to  the  company  and  taking  leave  of  it ; 
the  precise  use  of  language,  the  something  —  how  shall  I 
explain  it?  —  which  is  no  more  superior^7  than  the  coat 
is  the  man,  but  without  which  the  highest  talent  in  the 
world  will  never  be  admitted  within  those  portals. 

I  know  you  well  enough  to  be  quite  sure  I  indulge  no 
illusion  when  I  imagine  that  I  see  you  as  I  wish  3'ou  to 
be ;  simple  in  manners,  gentle  in  tone,  proud  without 
conceit,  respectful  to  the  old,  courteous  without  ser- 
vility, above  all,  discreet.  Use  your  wit  but  never  dis- 
play it  for  the  amusement  of  others  ;  for  be  sure  that  if 
your  brilliancT  anno3*s  an  inferior  man,  he  will  retire 
from  the  field  and  say  of  3*011  in  a  tone  of  contempt, 
"He  is  very  amusing."  Let  your  superior^'  be  leo- 
nine. Moreover,  do  not  be  always  seeking  to  please 
others.  I  advise  a  certain  coldness  in  your  relations 
with  men,  which  ma3'  even  amount  to  indifference  ;  this 


164  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

will  not  anger  others,  for  all  persons  esteem  those  who 
slight  them  ;  and  it  will  win  3-011  the  favor  of  women, 
who  will  respect  3*011  for  the  little  consequence  that  you 
attach  to  men.  Never  remain  in  company  with  those 
who  have  lost  their  reputation,  even  though  the}'  may 
not  have  deserved  to  do  so  ;  for  society  holds  us  respon- 
sible for  our  friendships  as  well  as  for  our  enmities. 
In  this  matter  let  your  judgments  be  slowly  and  ma- 
turely weighed,  but  see  that  the}' are  irrevocable.  When 
the  men  whom  3*011  have  repulsed  justify  the  repulsion, 
your  esteem  and  regard  will  be  all  the  more  sought 
after ;  3*011  have  inspired  the  tacit  respect  which  raises 
a  man  among  his  peers.  I  behold  3*011  now  armed  with 
a  youth  that  pleases,  grace  which  attracts,  and  wisdom 
with  which  to  preserve  3*0111*  conquests.  All  that  I  have 
now  told  you  can  be  summed  up  in  two  words,  two  old- 
fashioned  words,  Noblesse  oblige. 

Now  apply  these  precepts  to  the  management  of  life. 
You  will  hear  man3*  persons  sa3*  that  strategy  is  the  chief 
element  of  success  ;  that  the  best  way  to  press  through 
the  crowd  is  to  set  some  men  against  other  men  and 
so  take  their  places.  That  was  a  good  system  for  the 
Middle  Ages,  when  princes  had  to  destroy  their  rivals 
by  pitting  one  against  the  other ;  but  in  these  days,  all 
things  being  done  in  open  day,  I  am  afraid  it  would  do 
}*ou  ill-service.  No,  you  must  meet  your  competitors 
face  to  face,  be  they  loyal  and  true  men,  or  traitorous 
enemies  whose  weapons  are  calumny,  evil-speaking,  and 
fraud.  But  remember  this,  3*ou  have  no  more  powerful 
auxiliaries  than  these  men  themselves ;  the}*  are  their 
own  enemies ;  fight  them  with  honest  weapons,  and 
sooner  or  later  they  are  condemned.     As  to  the  first 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  165 

of  them,  loyal  men  and  true,  your  straightforwardness 
will  obtain  their  respect,  and  the  differences  between 
you  once  settled  (for  all  tilings  can  be  settled),  these 
men  will  serve  you.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  making  ene- 
mies ;  woe  to  him  who  has  none  in  the  world  30U  are 
about  to  enter ;  but  try  to  give  no  handle  for  ridicule  or 
disparagement.  I  sa}r  try,  for  in  Paris  a  man  cannot 
always  belong  solely  to  himself;  he  is  sometimes  at  the 
mercy  of  circumstances  ;  }*ou  will  not  always  be  able  to 
avoid  the  mud  in  the  gutter  nor  the  tile  that  falls  from 
the  roof.  The  moral  world  has  gutters  where  persons 
of  no  reputation  endeavor  to  splash  the  mud  in  which 
the}'  live  upon  men  of  honor.  But  }'ou  can  always  com- 
pel respect  by  showing  that  you  are,  under  all  circum- 
stances, immovable  in  }'our  principles.  In  the  conflict 
of  opinions,  in  the  midst  of  quarrels  and  cross-purposes, 
go  straight  to  the  point,  keep  resolutely  to  the  question  ; 
never  fight  except  for  the  essential  thing,  and  put  }Our 
whole  strength  into  that.  You  know  how  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  hates  Napoleon,  how  he  curses  him  and  pursues 
him  as  justice  does  a  criminal ;  demanding  punishment 
day  and  night  for  the  death  of  the  Due  d'Enghien,  the 
only  death,  the  onty  misfortune,  that  ever  brought  the 
tears  to  his  eyes  ;  well,  he  nevertheless  admired  him  as 
the  greatest  of  captains,  and  has  often  explained  to  me 
his  strateg}*.  May  not  the  same  tactics  be  applied  to 
the  war  of  human  interests  ;  they  would  economize  time 
as  heretofore  they  economized  men  and  space.  Think 
this  over,  for  as  a  woman  I  am  liable  to  be  mistaken  on 
such  points  which  m}T  sex  judges  only  b}r  instinct  and 
sentiment.  One  point,  however,  I  may  insist  on  ;  all 
trickery,  all  deception,  is  certain  to  be  discovered  and  to 


166  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

result  in  doing  harm  ;  whereas  every  situation  presents 
less  danger  if  a  man  plants  himself  firmly  on  his  own 
truthfulness.  If  I  may  cite  my  own  case,  I  can  tell  you 
that,  obliged  as  I  am  by  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  s  con- 
dition to  avoid  litigation  and  to  bring  to  an  immediate 
settlement  all  difficulties  which  arise  in  the  management 
of  Clochegourde,  and  which  would  otherwise  cause  him 
an  excitement  under  which  his  mind  would  succumb,  I 
have  invariably  settled  matters  promptly  \>y  taking  hold 
of  the  knot  of  the  difficulty  and  saying  to  our  oppo- 
nents :  "  We  will  either  untie  it  or  cut  it !  " 

It  will  often  happen  that  you  do  a  service  to  others 
and  find  yourself  ill- re  warded  ;  I  beg  you  not  to  imitate 
those  who  complain  of  men  and  declare  them  to  be  all 
ungrateful.  That  is  putting  themselves  on  a  pedestal 
indeed  !  and  surely  it  is  somewhat  silty  to  admit  their 
lack  of  knowledge  of  the  world.  But  you,  I  trust,  will 
not  do  good  as  a  usurer  lends  his  money ;  you  will  do 
it  —  will  you  not?  —  for  good's  sake.  Noblesse  oblige. 
Nevertheless,  do  not  bestow  such  services  as  to  force 
others  to  ingratitude,  for  if  you  do,  they  will  become 
your  most  implacable  enemies ;  obligations  sometimes 
lead  to  despair,  like  the  despair  of  ruin  itself,  which  is 
capable  of  very  desperate  efforts.  As  for  yourself,  ac- 
cept as  little  as  you  can  from  others.  Be  no  man's  vas- 
sal ;  and  bring  yourself  out  of  your  own  difficulties. 

You  see,  dear  friend,  I  am  advising  you  onty  on  the 
lesser  points  of  life.  In  the  world  of  politics  things 
wear  a  different  aspect ;  the  rules  which  are  to  guide 
your  individual  steps  give  way  before  the  national  in- 
terests. If  you  reach  that  sphere  where  great  men  re- 
volve you  will  be,  like  God  himself,  the  sole  arbiter  of 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  167 

your  determinations.  You  will  no  longer  be  a  man,  but 
law,  the  living  law ;  no  longer  an  individual,  you  are 
then  the  Nation  incarnate.  But  remember  this,  though 
you  judge,  you  will  yourself  be  judged ;  hereafter  you 
•  will  be  summoned  before  the  ages,  and  you  know  his- 
tory well  enough  to  be  fully  informed  as  to  what  deeds 
and  what  sentiments  have  led  to  true  grandeur. 

I  now  come  to  a  serious  matter,  your  conduct  towards 
women.  Wherever  you  visit  make  it  a  principle  not 
to  fritter  yourself  away  in  a  petty  round  of  gallantry. 
A  man  of  the  last  century  who  had  great  social  suc- 
cess never  paid  attention  to  more  than  one  woman  of 
an  evening,  choosing  the  one  who  seemed  to  be  most 
neglected.  That  man,  my  dear  child,  controlled  his 
epoch.  He  wisely  reckoned  that  by  a  given  time  all 
women  would  speak  well  of  him.  Many  3'oung  men 
waste  their  most  precious  possession,  namely,  the  time 
necessary  to  create  connections  which  contribute  more 
than  all  else  to  social  success.  Your  springtime  is 
short,  endeavor  to  make  the  most  of  it.  Cultivate  in- 
fluential women.  Influential  women  are  old  women  ; 
they  will  teach  3'ou  the  intermarriages  and  the  secrets 
of  all  the  families  of  the  great  world ;  the}*  will  show 
you  the  cross-roads  which  will  bring  you  soonest  to  your 
goal.  They  will  be  fond  of  you.  The  bestowal  of  pro- 
tection is  their  last  form  of  love  —  when  thej-  are  not 
devout.  They  will  do  you  innumerable  good  services  ; 
sing  your  praises  and  make  you  desirable  to  society. 
Avoid  young  women.  Do  not  think  I  say  this  from 
personal  self-interest.  The  woman  of  fifty  will  do  all 
for  you,  the  woman  of  twenty  will  do  nothing ;  she 
wants  your  whole  life  while  the  other  asks  only  a  few 


168  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

attentions.  Laugh  with  the  young  women,  meet  them 
for  pastime  merely ;  they  are  incapable  of  serious 
thought.  Young  women,  dear  friend,  are  selfish,  vain, 
petty,  ignorant  of  true  friendship  ;  they  love  no  one 
but  themselves  ;  the}'  would  sacrifice  you  to  an  even- 
ing's success.  Besides,  they  all  want  absolute  devo- 
tion, and  your  present  situation  requires  that  devotion 
be  shown  to  you  ;  two  irreconcilable  needs  !  None  of 
these  young  women  would  enter  into  your  interests ; 
the}'  would  think  of  themselves  and  not  of  you  ;  they 
would  injure  you  more  by  their  emptiness  and  frivolity 
than  they  could  serve  you  by  their  love  ;  they  will  waste 
your  time  unscrupulously,  hinder  your  advance  to  for- 
tune, and  end  by  destroying  your  future  with  the  best 
grace  possible.  If  you  complain,  the  silliest  of  them 
will  make  you  think  that  her  glove  is  more  precious 
than  fortune,  and  that  nothing  is  so  glorious  as  to  be 
her  slave.  They  will  all  tell  you  that  they  bestow  hap- 
piness, and  thus  lull  you  to  forget  your  nobler  destiny. 
Believe  me,  the  happiness  they  give  is  transitory  ;  your 
great  career  will  endure.  You  know  not  with  what  per- 
fidious cleverness  they  contrive  to  satisfy  their  caprices, 
nor  the  art  with  which  they  will  convert  your  passing 
fancy  into  a  love  which  ought  to  be  eternal.  The  day 
when  they  abandon  you  they  will  tell  you  that  the 
words,  "Ino  longer  love  you,"  are  a  full  justification 
of  their  conduct,  just  as  the  words  "I  love,"  justified 
their  winning  you  ;  they  will  declare  that  love  is  in- 
voluntary and  not  to  be  coerced.  Absurd !  Believe 
me,  dear,  true  love  is  eternal,  infinite,  always  like  unto 
itself;  it  is  equable,  pure,  without  violent  demonstra- 
tion ;  white  hair  often  covers  the  head  but  the  heart  that 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  169 

holds  it  is  ever  young.  No  such  love  is  found  among 
the  women  of  the  world  ;  all  are  plajing  corned}' ;  this 
one  will  interest  3-011  by  her  misfortunes  ;  she  seems  the 
gentlest  and  least  exacting  of  her  sex,  but  when  once 
she  is  necessary  to  you,  you  will  feel  the  tyrannj-  of 
weakness  and  will  do  her  will ;  30U  may  wish  to  be  a 
diplomat,  to  go  and  come,  and  study  men  and  interests, 
—  no,  you  must  stay  in  Paris,  or  at  her  country-place, 
sewn  to  her  petticoat,  and  the  more  devotion  you  show 
the  more  ungrateful  and  exacting  she  will  be.  Another 
will  attract  you  by  her  submissiveness  ;  she  will  be  your 
attendant,  follow  you  romantically  about,  compromise 
herself  to  keep  you,  and  be  the  millstone  about  your 
neck.  You  will  drown  yourself  some  day,  but  the 
woman  will  come  to  the  surface. 

The  least  manoeuvring  of  these  women  of  the  world 
have  many  nets.  The  silliest  triumph  because  too  foolish 
to  excite  distrust.  The  one  to  be  feared  least  may  be 
the  woman  of  gallantly7  whom  30U  love  without  exactly 
knowing  why  ;  she  will  leave  3'ou  for  no  motive  and  go 
back  to  you  out  of  vanitj-.  All  these  women  will  injure 
you,  either  in  the  present  or  the  future.  Every  3'oung 
woman  who  enters  societ}'  and  lives  a  life  of  pleasure 
and  of  gratified  vanity  is  semi-corrupt  and  will  corrupt 
you.  Among  them  you  will  not  find  the  chaste  and 
tranquil  being  in  whom  you  may  forever  reign.  Ah  I 
she  who  loves  you  will  love  solitude  ;  the  festivals  of  her 
heart  will  be  your  glances ;  she  will  live  upon  your 
words.  May  she  be  all  the  world  to  you,  for  3011  will 
be  all  in  all  to  her.  Love  her  well ;  give  her  neither 
griefs  nor  rivals ;  do  not  rouse  her  jealous3r.  To  be 
loved,  dear,  to  be  comprehended,  is  the  greatest  of  all 


170  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

joys  ;  I  pray  that  you  may  taste  it !  But  run  no  risk  of 
injuring  the  flower  of  your  soul ;  be  sure,  be  veiy  sure 
of  the  heart  in  which  you  place  your  affections.  That 
woman  will  never  be  her  own  self;  she  will  never  think 
of  herself,  but  of  you.  She  will  never  oppose  you,  she 
will  have  no  interests  of  her  own  ;  for  you  she  will  see  a 
danger  where  you  can  see  none  and  where  she  would  be 
oblivious  of  her  own.  If  she  surfers  it  will  be  in  silence  ; 
she  will  have  no  personal  vanit}',  but  deep  reverence 
for  whatever  in  her  has  won  your  love.  Respond  to 
such  a  love  b}r  surpassing  it.  If  you  are  fortunate 
enough  to  find  that  which  I,  your  poor  friend,  must 
ever  be  without,  I  mean  a  love  mutually  inspired, 
mutualty  felt,  remember,  no  matter  how  perfect  that 
love  may  be,  remember  that  in  a  vallej'  lives  a  mother 
whose  heart  is  so  filled  with  the  feelings  you  have  put 
there  that  3~ou  can  never  sound  its  depths.  Yes,  I  bear 
}tou  an  affection  3^011  will  never  know  to  its  full  extent ; 
before  it  could  show  itself  for  what  it  is  3-011  wrould  have 
to  lose  3'our  mind  and  intellect,  and  then  you  would  be 
unable  to  comprehend  the  length  and  breadth  of  my 
devotion. 

Shall  I  be  misunderstood  in  bidding  you  avoid  young 
women  (all  more  or  less  artful,  satirical,  vain,  frivo- 
lous, and  extravagant)  and  attach  3'ourself  to  influential 
women,  to  those  imposing  dowagers  full  of  excellent 
good-sense,  like  my  aunt,  who  will  help  your  career, 
defend  3011  from  attacks,  and  say  for  you  the  things 
that  you  cannot  sa3T  for  yourself?  Am  I  not,  on  the 
contrary,  generous  in  bidding  you  reserve  30111-  love 
for  the  corning  angel  with  the  guileless  hreart?  If  the 
motto  Noblesse  oblige  sums  up  the  advice  I  gave  you 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  171 

just  now,  my  further  advice  on  your  relations  to  women 
is  based  upon  that  other  motto  of  chivalry,  "  Serve  all, 
love  one." 

Your  educational  knowledge  is  immense  ;  your  heart, 
saved  bjr  early  suffering,  is  without  a  stain  ;  all  is  noble, 
all  is  well  with  you.  Now,  Felix,  will!  Your  future  lies 
in  that  one  word,  the  word  of  great  men.  My  child,  you 
will  obey  your  Henriette,  will  you  not?  You  will  permit 
her  to  tell  you  from  time  to  time  the  thoughts  that  are 
in  her  mind  of  you  and  of  your  relations  to  the  world  ? 
I  have  an  eye  in  my  soul  which  sees  the  future  for  you 
as  for  m}'  children  ;  suffer  me  to  use  that  faculty  for 
j'our  benefit ;  it  is  a  faculty,  a  mysterious  gift  bestowed 
by  my  lonely  life ;  far  from  its  growing  weaker,  I  find 
it  strengthened  and  exalted  by  solitude  and  silence. 

I  ask  you  in  return  to  bestow  a  happiness  on  me  ;  I 
desire  to  see  you  becoming  more  and  more  important 
among  men,  without  one  single  success  that  shall  bring 
a  line  of  shame  upon  my  brow  ;  I  desire  that  3011  ma}' 
quickty  bring  jour  fortunes  to  the  level  of  3*0111*  noble 
name,  and  be  able  to  tell  me  1  have  contributed  to  your 
advancement  by  something  better  than  a  wish.  This 
secret  co-operation  in  your  future  is  the  onty  pleasure 
I  can  allow  myself.     For  it,  I  will  wait  and  hope. 

I  do  not  say  farewell.  We  are  separated  ;  3'ou  cannot 
put  my  hand  t0  3'our  lips,  but  you  must  surely  know  the 
place  you  hold  in  the  heart  of  your 

Henriette. 

As  I  read  this  letter  I  felt  the  maternal  heart  beating 
beneath  my  fingers  which  held  the  paper  while  I  was  still 
cold  from   the  harsh  greeting  of  1113-  own   mother.     I 


172  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

understood  why  the  countess  had  forbidden  me  to  open 
it  in  Touraine ;  no  doubt  she  feared  that  I  would  fall 
at  her  feet  and  wet  them  with  my  tears. 

I  now  made  the  acquaintance  of  my  brother  Charles, 
who  up  to  this  time  had  been  a  stranger  to  me.  But  in 
all  our  intercourse  he  showed  a  haughtiness  which  kept 
us  apart  and  prevented  brotherly  affection.  Kindly 
feelings  depend  on  similarit}'  of  soul,  and  there  was  no 
point  of  touch  between  us.  He  preached  to  me  dog- 
matically those  social  trifles  which  head  or  heart  can  see 
without  instruction  ;  he  seemed  to  mistrust  me.  If  I 
had  not  had  the  inward  support  of  my  great  love  he 
would  have  made  me  awkward  and  stupid  by  affecting 
to  believe  that  I  knew  nothing  of  life.  He  presented  me 
in  society  under  the  expectation  that  my  dulness  would 
be  a  foil  to  his  qualities.  Had  I  not  remembered  the 
sorrows  of  my  childhood  I  might  have  taken  his  pro- 
tecting vanity  for  brotherly  affection ;  but  inward  soli- 
tude produces  the  same  effects  as  outward  solitude  ; 
silence  within  our  souls  enables  us  to  hear  the  faintest 
sound ;  the  habit  of  taking  refuge  within  ourselves 
develops  a  perception  which  discerns  every  qualit}'  of 
the  affections  about  us.  Before  I  knew  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  a  hard  look  grieved  me,  a  rough  word  wounded 
me  to  the  heart ;  I  bewailed  these  things  without  as  yet 
knowing  anything  of  a  life  of  tenderness  ;  whereas  now, 
since  my  return  from  Clochegourde,  I  could  make  com- 
parisons which  perfected  my  instinctive  perceptions. 
All  deductions  derived  onty  from  sufferings  endured  are 
incomplete.  Happiness  has  a  light  to  cast.  I  now  al- 
lowed myself  the  more  willingly  to  be  kept  under  the  heel 
of  primogeniture  because  I  was  not  my  brother's  dupe. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  173 

I  always  went  alone  to  the  Duehesse  de  Lenoncourt's, 
where  Henriette's  name  was  never  mentioned  ;  no  one, 
except  the  good  old  duke,  who  was  simplicit}'  itself, 
ever  spoke  of  her  to  me ;  but  by  the  way  he  wel- 
comed me  I  guessed  that  his  daughter  had  privately 
commended  me  to  his  care.  At  the  moment  when  I 
was  beginning  to  overcome  the  foolish  wonder  and  shy- 
ness which  beset  a  young  man  at  his  first  entrance  into 
the  great  world,  and  to  realize  the  pleasures  it  could 
give  through  the  resources  it  offers  to  ambition,  just, 
too,  as  I  was  beginning  to  make  use  of  Henriette's 
maxims,  admiring  their  wisdom,  the  events  of  the  20th 
of  March  took  place. 

My  brother  followed  the  court  to  Ghent ;  I,  by  Henri- 
ette's advice  (for  I  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  her, 
active  on  my  side  only) ,  went  there  also  with  the  Due 
de  Lenoncourt.  The  natural  kindness  of  the  old  duke 
turned  to  a  hearty  and  sincere  protection  as  soon  as  he 
saw  me  attached,  body  and  soul,  to  the  Bourbons.  He 
himself  presented  me  to  his  Majesty.  Courtiers  are  not 
numerous  when  misfortunes  are  rife  ;  but  j'outh  is  gifted 
with  ingenuous  admiration  and  uncalculating  fidelity. 
The  king  had  the  facult}T  of  judging  men  ;  a  devotion 
which  might  have  passed  unobserved  in  Paris  counted 
for  much  at  Ghent,  and  I  had  the  happiness  of  pleasing 
Louis  XVIII. 

A  letter  from  Madame  de  Mortsauf  to  her  father, 
brought  with  despatches  by  an  emissary  of  the  Ven- 
deens,  inclosed  a  note  to  me  by  which  I  learned  that 
Jacques  was  ill.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  in  despair  at 
his  son's  ill-health,  and  also  at  the  news  of  a  second 
emigration,  added  a  f"irwnrf|n  wtljfh  enabled  me  to 


174  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

guess  the  situation  of  my  clear  one.  Worried  by  him, 
no  doubt,  when  she  passed  all  her  time  at  Jacques'  bed- 
side, allowed  no  rest  either  day  or  night,  superior  to  an- 
noyance, 3'et  unable  alwa}s  to  control  herself  when  her 
whole  soul  was  given  to  the  care  of  her  child,  Henriette 
needed  the  support  of  a  friendship  which  might  lighten 
the  burden  of  her  life,  were  it  only  hy  diverting  her  hus- 
band's mind.  Though  I  was  now  most  impatient  to 
rival  the  career  of  my  brother,  who  had  lately  been  sent 
to  the  Congress  of  Vienna,  and  was  anxious  at  any  risk 
to  justify  Henriette's  appeal  and  become  a  man  myself, 
freed  from  all  vassalage,  nevertheless  ni}*  ambition,  m}^ 
desire  for  independence,  the  great  interest  I  had  in  not 
leaving  the  king,  all  were  of  no  account  before  the  vision 
of  Madame  de  Mortsauf  s  sad  face.  I  resolved  to  leave 
the  court  at  Ghent  and  serve  my  true  sovereign.  God 
rewarded  me.  The  emissary  sent  b}r  the  Vendeens  was 
unable  to  return.  The  king  wanted  a  messenger  who 
would  faithfully  carry  back  his  instructions.  The  Due 
de  Lenoncourt  knew  that  tlie  king  would  never  forget 
the  man  who  undertook  so  perilous  an  enterprise  ;  he 
asked  for  the  mission  without  consulting  me,  and  I 
gladly  accepted  it,  happy  indeed  to  be  able  to  return  to 
Clochegourde  employed  in  the  good  cause. 

After  an  audience  with  the  king  I  returned  to  France, 
where,  both  in  Paris  and  in  Vendee,  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  cany  out  his  Majesty's  instructions.  Towards 
the  end  of  May,  being  tracked  by  the  Bonapartist  au- 
thorities to  whom  I  was  denounced,  I  was  obliged  to 
fly  from  place  to  place  in  the  character  of  a  man  en- 
deavoring to  get  back  to  his  estate.  I  went  on  foot 
from  park  to  park,  from  wood  to  wood,  across  the  whole 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  175 

of  upper  Vendee,  the  Bocage  and  Poitou,  changing  my 
direction  as  danger  threatened. 

I  reached  Saumur,  from  Saumur  I  went  to  Chinon, 
and  from  Chinon  I  reached,  in  a  single  night,  the  woods 
of  Nueil,  where  I  met  the  count  on  horseback  ;  he  took 
me  up  behind  him  and  we  reached  Clochegourde  with- 
out passing  any  one  who  recognized  me. 

''Jacques  is  better,"  were  the  first  words  he  said 
to  me. 

I  explained  to  him  my  position  as  diplomatic  post- 
man, hunted  like  a  wild  beast,  and  the  brave  gentleman 
in  his  qualit}r  of  ro}-alist  claimed  the  danger  over  Ches- 
sel  of  receiving  me.  As  we  came  in  sight  of  Cloche- 
gourde the  past  eight  months  rolled  away  like  a  dream. 
When  we  entered  the  salon  the  count  said:  "Guess 
whom  I  bring  you  ?  —  Felix  !  " 

"Is  it  possible !  "  she  said,  with  pendent  arms  and  a 
bewildered  face. 

I  showed  myself  and  we  both  remained  motionless ; 
she  in  her  armchair,  I  on  the  threshold  of  the  door ; 
looking  at  each  other  with  that  hunger  of  the  soul 
which  endeavors  to  make  up  in  a  single  glance  for  the 
lost  months.  Then,  recovering  from  a  surprise  which 
left  her  heart  unveiled,  she  rose  and  I  went  up  to  her. 

"  I  have  prayed  for  your  safety,"  she  said,  giving  me 
her  hand  to  kiss. 

She  asked  news  of  her  father ;  then  she  guessed  my 
weariness  and  went  to  prepare  my  room,  while  the  count 
gave  me  something  to  eat,  for  I  was  dying  of  hunger. 
My  room  was  the  one  above  hers,  her  aunt's  room  ;  she 
requested  the  count  to  take  me  there,  after  setting  her 
foot  on  the  first  step  of  the  staircase,  deliberating  no 


176  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

doubt  whether  to  accompany  me  ;  I  turned  my  head,  she 
blushed,  bade  me  sleep  well,  and  went  away.  When  I 
came  down  to  dinner  I  heard  for  the  first  time  of  the  dis- 
asters at  Waterloo,  the  flight  of  Napoleon,  the  march  of 
the  Allies  to  Paris,  and  the  probable  return  of  the  Bour- 
bons. These  events  were  all  in  all  to  the  count ;  to  us 
they  were  nothing.  What  think  you  was  the  great  event 
I  was  to  learn,  after  kissing  the  children?  —  for  I  will 
not  dwell  on  the  alarm  I  felt  at  seeing  the  countess  pale 
and  shrunken ;  I  knew  the  injury  I  might  do  by  show- 
ing it  and  was  careful  to  express  only  jo}T  at  seeing  her. 
But  the  great  event  for  us  was  told  in  the  words,  "  You 
shall  have  ice  to-day  !  "  She  had  often  fretted  the  year 
before  that  the  water  was  not  cold  enough  for  me,  who, 
never  drinking  anything  else,  liked  it  iced.  God  knows 
how  man}'  entreaties  it  had  cost  her  to  get  an  ice-house 
built.  You  know  better  than  an\r  one  that  a  word,  a 
look,  an  inflection  of  the  voice,  a  trifling  attention,  suf- 
fices for  love  ;  love's  noblest  privilege  is  to  prove  itself 
by  love.  Well,  her  words,  her  look,  her  pleasure,  showed 
me  her  feelings,  as  I  had  formerly  shown  her  mine  by 
that  first  game  of  backgammon.  These  ingenuous  proofs 
of  her  affection  were  many  ;  on  the  seventh  day  after  my 
arrival  she  recovered  her  freshness,  she  sparkled  with 
health  and  youth  and  happiness ;  my  lily  expanded  in 
beauty  just  as  the  treasures  of  m}-  heart  increased. 
Onty  in  pett}'  minds  or  in  common  hearts  can  absence 
lessen  love  or  efface  the  features  or  diminish  the  beauty 
of  our  dear  one.  To  ardent  imaginations,  to  all  beings 
through  whose  veins  enthusiasm  passes  like  a  crimson 
tide,  and  in  whom  passion  takes  the  form  of  constancy, 
absence  has  the  same  effect  as  the  sufferings  of  the  early 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  177 

Christians,  which  strengthened  their  faith  and  made  God 
visible  to  them.  In  hearts  that  abound  in  love  are  there 
not  incessant  longings  for  a  desired  object,  to  which 
the  glowing  fire  of  our  dreams  gives  higher  value  and 
a  deeper  tint?  Are  we  not  conscious  of  instigations 
which  give  to  the  beloved  features  the  beauty  of  the 
ideal  by  inspiring  them  with  thought?  The  past,  dwelt 
on  in  all  its  details  becomes  magnified  ;  the  future  teems 
with  hope.  When  two  hearts  lillecl  with  these  electric 
clouds  meet  each  other,  their  interview  is  like  the  wel- 
come storm  which  revives  the  earth  and  stimulates  it 
with  the  swift  lightnings  of  the  thunderbolt.  How 
many  tender  pleasures  came  to  me  when  I  found  these 
thoughts  and  these  sensations  reciprocal !  With  what 
glad  eyes  I  followed  the  development  of  happiness  in 
Henriette  !  A  woman  who  renews  her  life  from  that  of 
her  beloved  gives,  perhaps,  a  greater  proof  of  feeling 
than  she  who  dies  killed  by  a  doubt,  withered  on  her 
stock  for  want  of  sap ;  I  know  not  which,  of  the  two 
is  the  more  touching. 

The  revival  of  Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  wholly  nat- 
ural, like  the  effects  of  the  month  of  May  upon  the 
meadows,  or  those  of  the  sun  and  of  the  brook  upon 
the  drooping  flowers.  Henriette,  like  our  dear  valle}'  of 
love,  bad  had  her  winter;  she  revived  like  the  valley  in 
the  springtime.  Before  dinner  we  went  down  to  the 
beloved  terrace.  There,  with  one  hand  stroking  the 
head  of  her  son,  who  walked  feebly  beside  her,  silent, 
as  though  he  were  breeding  an  illness,  she  told  me  of 
her  nights  beside  his  pillow. 

For  three  months,  she  said,  she  had  lived  wholly 
within  herself,  inhabiting,  as  it  were,  a  dark  palace ; 

12 


178  The  Lily  of  the    V<%y. 

afraid  to  enter  sumptuous  rooms  where  the  light  shone, 
where  festivals  were  given,  to  her  denied,  at  the  door 
of  which  she  stood,  one  glance  turned  upon  her  child, 
another  to  a  dim  and  distant  figure  ;  one  ear  listening 
for  moans,  another  for  a  voice.  She  told  me  poems, 
born  of  solitude,  such  as  no  poet  ever  sang ;  but  all 
ingenuously,  without  one  vestige  of  love,  one  trace  of 
voluptuous  thought,  one  echo  of  a  poes3T  orientally 
soothing  as  the  rose  of  Frangistan.  When  the  count 
joined  us  she  continued  in  the  same  tone,  like  a  woman 
secure  within  herself,  able  to  look  proudly  at  her  hus- 
band and  kiss  the  forehead  of  her  son  without  a  blush. 
She  had  prayed  much ;  she  had  clasped  her  hands  for 
nights  together  over  her  child,  refusing  to  let  him  die. 

"I  went,"  she  said,  "to  the  gate  of  the  sanctuary 
and  asked  his  life  of  God." 

She  had  had  visions,  and  she  told  them  to  me  ;  but 
when  she  said,  in  that  angelic  voice  of  hers,  these  ex- 
quisite words,  "While  I  slept  my  heart  watched,"  the 
count  harshly  interrupted  her. 

"  That  is  to  say,  30U  were  half  crazy,"  he  cried. 

She  was  silent,  as  deeply  hurt  as  though  it  were  a 
first  wound  ;  forgetting  that  for  thirteen  years  this  man 
had  lost  no  chance  to  shoot  his  arrows  into  her  heart. 
Like  a  soaring  bird  struck  on  the  wing  b}r  vulgar 
shot,  she  sank  into  a  dull  depression ;  then  she  roused 
herself. 

"How  is  it,  monsieur,"  she  said,  "that  no  word  of 
mine  ever  finds  favor  in  your  sight?  Have  you  no  in- 
dulgence for  my  weakness,  —  no  comprehension  of  me 
as  a  woman  ?  " 

She  stopped  short.     Already  she  regretted  the  mur- 


Tim  Lily  of   the    Valley.  179 

nuir,  and  measured  the  future  by  the  past ;  how  could 
she  expect  comprehension?  Had  she  not  drawn  upon 
herself  some  virulent  attack?  The  blue  veins  of  her 
temples  throbbed  ;  she  shed  no  tears,  but  the  color  of 
her  eyes  faded.  Then  she  looked  down,  that  she  might 
not  see  her  pain  reflected  on  my  face,  her  feelings 
guessed,  her  soul  wooed  by  my  soul ;  above  all,  not 
see  the  sympathy  of  young  love,  ready  like  a  faithful 
dog  to  spring  at  the  throat  of  whoever  threatened  his 
mistress,  without  regard  to  the  assailant's  strength  or 
qualit3T.  At  such  cruel  moments  the  count's  air  of  su- 
periority  was  supreme.  He  thought  he  had  triumphed 
over  his  wife,  and  he  pursued  her  with  a  hail  of  phrases 
which  repeated  the  one  idea,  and  were  like  the  blows  of 
an  axe  which  fell  with  unvarying  sound. 

M  Always  the  same?"  I  said,  when  the  count  left  us 
to  follow  the  huntsman  who  came  to  speak  to  him. 

"  Alwa}'S,"  answered  Jacques. 

"  Always  excellent,  my  son,"  she  said,  endeavoring 
to  withdraw  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  from  the  judgment 
of  his  children.  "  You  see  only  the  present,  you  know 
nothing  of  the  past ;  therefore  you  cannot  criticise  your 
father  without  doing  him  injustice.  But  even  if  you 
had  the  pain  of  seeing  that  3'our  father  was  to  blame, 
family  honor  requires  you  to  bury  such  secrets  in 
silence." 

"  How  have  the  changes  at  the  Cassine  and  the 
Khetoriere  answered?"  I  asked,  to  divert  her  mind 
from  bitter  thoughts. 

"  Beyond  my  expectations,"  she  replied.  "  As  soon 
as  the  buildings  were  finished  we  found  two  excellent 
farmers  read}'  to  hire  them  ;  one  at  four  thousand  five 


180  The  Lily  -of  the    Valley. 

hundred  francs,  taxes  paid  ;  the  other  at  five  thousand  ; 
both  leases  for  fifteen  years.  We  have  already 
planted  three  thousand  young  trees  on  the  new  farms. 
Manette's  cousin  is  delighted  to  get  the  Rabelaye ; 
Martineau  has  taken  the  Baude.  All  our  efforts  have 
been  crowned  with  success.  Clochegourde,  without  the 
reserved  land  which  we  call  the  home-farm,  and  without 
the  timber  and  vineyards,  brings  in  nineteen  thousand 
francs  a  3*ear,  and  the  plantations  are  becoming  valuable. 
I  am  battling  to  let  the  home-farm  to  Martineau,  the 
keeper,  whose  eldest  son  can  now  take  his  place.  He 
offers  three  thousand  francs  if  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
will  build  him  a  farm-house  at  the  Commanderie.  We 
might  then  clear  the  approach  to  Clochegourde,  finish 
the  proposed  avenue  to  the  main  road,  and  have  onlv  the 
woodland  and  the  vineyards  to  take  care  of  ourselves. 
If  the  king  returns,  our  pension  will  be  restored  ;  we 
shall  consent  after  clashing  a  little  with  our  wife's  com- 
mon-sense. Jacques'  fortune  will  then  be  permanently 
secured.  That  result  obtained,  I  shall  leave  monsieur 
to  lay  by  as  much  as  he  likes  for  Madeleine,  though  the 
king  will  of  course  dower  her,  according  to  custom. 
My  conscience  is  easy ;  I  have  all  but  accomplished  my 
task.     And  3'ou?"  she  said. 

I  explained  to  her  the  mission  on  which  the  king  had 
sent  me,  and  showed  her  how  her  wise  counsel  had 
borne  fruit.  Was  she  endowed  with  second  sight  thus 
to  foretell  events? 

* '  Did  I  not  write  it  to  you  ?  "  she  answered.  c '  For  you 
and  for  my  children  alone  I  possess  a  remarkable  faculty, 
of  which* I  have  spoken  only  to  my  confessor,  Monsieur 
de  la  Berge ;   he  explains  it   by   divine   intervention. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  181 

Often,  after  deep  meditation  induced  b\-  fears  about  the 
health  of  my  children,  my  eyes  close  to  the  things  of 
earth  and  see  into  another  region ;  if  Jacques  and 
Madeleine  there  appear  to  me  as  two  luminous  figures 
the}-  are  sure  to  have  good  health  for  a  certain  period 
of  time  ;  if  wrapped  in  mist  the}*  are  equally  sure  to  fall 
ill  soon  after.  As  for  you,  I  not  only  see  you  brilliantly 
illuminated,  but  I  hear  a  voice  which  explains  to  me 
without  words,  by  some  mental  communication,  what3'ou 
ou^ht  to  do.  Does  any  law  forbid  me  to  use  this  won- 
derful gift  for  my  children  and  for  you?"  she  asked, 
falling  into  a  re  very.  Then,  after  a  pause  she  added, 
"  Perhaps  God  wills  to  take  the  place  of  their  father." 

44  Let  me  believe  that  my  obedience  is  due  to  none 
but  3'ou,"  I  cried. 

She  gave  me  one  of  her  exquisitely  gracious  smiles, 
which  so  exalted  my  heart  that  I  should  not  have  felt  a 
death-blow  if  given  at  that  moment. 

44  As  soon  as  the  king  returns  to  Paris,  go  there; 
leave  Cloehegourde,"  she  said.  44  It  may  be  degrading 
to  beg  for  places  and  favors,  but  it  would  be  ridiculous 
to  be  out  of  the  way  of  receiving  them.  Great  changes 
will  soon  take  place.  The  king  needs  capable  and 
trustworthy  men  ;  don't  fail  him.  It  is  well  for  30U  to 
enter  young  into  the  affairs  of  the  nation  and  learn 
your  way ;  for  statesmen,  like  actors,  have  a  routine 
business  to  acquire,  which  genius  does  not  reveal,  it 
must  be  learnt.  My  father  heard  the  Due  de  .Choiseul 
s&y  this.  Think  of  me,"  she  said,  after  a  pause  ;  "let 
me  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  superiority  in  a  soul  that  is  all 
my  own  ;  for  are  you  not  my  son  ?  " 

44  Your  son?  "  I  said,  sullenly. 


182  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

"  Yes,  my  son  !  "  she  cried,  mocking  me  ;  "  is  not  that 
a  good  place  in  m}'  heart  ?  " 

The  bell  rang  for  dinner ;  she  took  my  arm  and 
leaned  contentedly  upon  it. 

"You  have  grown,"  she  said,  as  we  went  up  the 
steps.  When  we  reached  the  portico  she  shook  my 
arm  a  little,  as  if  my  looks  were  importunate  ;  for  though 
her  eyes  were  lowered  she  knew  that  I  saw  only  her. 
Then  she  said,  with  a  charming  air  of  pretended  impa- 
tience, full  of  grace  and  coquetiy,  "  Come,  wh}T  don't 
you  look  at  our  dear  valley  ?  " 

She  turned,  held  her  white  silk  sun-shade  over  our 
heads  and  drew  Jacques  closely  to  her  side.  The  mo- 
tion of  her  head  as  she  looked  towards  the  Indre,  the 
punt,  the  meadows,  showed  me  that  in  my  absence  she 
had  come  to  manj-  an  understanding  with  those  misty  hor- 
izons and  their  vaporous  outline.  Nature  was  a  mantle 
which  sheltered  her  thoughts.  She  now  knew  what  the 
nightingale  was  sighing  the  livelong  night,  what  the 
songster  of  the  sedges  hymned  with  his  plaintive  note. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  evening  I  was  witness  of  a  scene 
which  touched  me  deeply,  and  which  I  had  never  }Tet 
witnessed,  for  in  my  former  visits  I  had  played  back- 
gammon with  the  count  while  his  wife  took  the  children 
into  the  dining-room  before  their  bedtime.  The  bell 
rang  twice,  and  all  the  servants  of  the  household 
entered  the  room. 

'*  You  are  now  our  guest  and  must  submit  to  convent 
rule,"  said  the  countess,  leading  me  by  the  hand  with 
that  air  of  innocent  gayety  which  distinguishes  women 
who  are  naturally  pious. 

The  count  followed.     Masters,  children,  and  servants 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  183 

knelt  down,  all  taking  their  regular  places.  It  was 
Madeleine's  turn  to  read  the  prayers.  The  dear  child 
said  them  in  her  childish  voice,  the  ingenuous  tones  of 
which  rose  clear  in  the  harmonious  silence  of  the 
country,  and  gave  to  the  words  the  candor  of  holy  in- 
nocence, the  grace  of  angels.  It  was  the  most  affecting 
prayer  I  ever  heard.  Nature  replied  to  the  child's 
voice  with  the  myriad  murmurs  of  the  coming  night,  like 
the  low  accompaniment  of  an  organ  lightly  touched, 
Madeleine  was  on  the  right  of  the  countess,  Jacques  on 
her  left.  The  graceful  early  heads,  between  which  rose 
the  smooth  braids  of  the  mother,  and  above  all  three 
the  perfectly  white  hair  and  yellow  cranium  of  the 
father,  made  a  picture  which  repeated,  in  some  sort, 
the  ideas  aroused  by  the  melody  of  the  prayer.  As  if 
to  fulfil  all  conditions  of  the  unity  which  marks  the 
sublime,  this,  calm  and  collected  group  were  bathed  in 
the  fading  light  of  the  setting  sun  ;  its  red  tints  coloring 
the  room,  impelling  the  soul  —  be  it  poetic  or  super- 
stitious—  to  believe  that  the  fires  of  heaven  were 
visiting  these  faithful  servants  of  God  as  they  knelt 
there  without  distinction  of  rank,  in  the  equality  which 
heaven  demands.  Thinking  back  to  the  days  of  the 
patriarchs  m}r  mind  still  further  magnified  this  scene,  so 
grand  in  its  simplicit}'. 

The  children  said  good-night,  the  servants  bowed,  the 
countess  went  away  holding  a  child  by  each  hand,  and 
I  returned  to  the  salon  with  the  count. 

"  We  provide  you  with  salvation  there,  and  hell  here," 
he  said,  pointing  to  the  backgammon-board. 

The  countess  returned  in  half  an  hour,  and  brought 
her  frame  near  the  table. 


184  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

"This  is  for  yon,"  she  said,  unrolling  the  canvas ; 
'*  but  for  the  last  three  months  it  has  languished.  Be- 
tween that  rose  and  this  heartsease  mj'  poor  child 
was  ill." 

"Come,  come,"  said  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  "don't 
talk  of  that  airy  more.  Six — five,  emissary  of  the 
king ! " 

When  alone  in  my  room  I  hushed  my  breathing  that 
I  might  hear  her  passing  to  and  fro  in  hers.  She  was 
calm  and  pure,  but  I  was  lashed  with  maddening  ideas. 
"  Why  should  she  not  be  mine?  "  I  thought ;  '*  perhaps 
she  is,  like  me,  in  this  whirlwind  of  agitation."  Atone 
o'clock,  I  went  down,  walking  noiselessly,  and  lay  before 
her  door.  With  mv  ear  pressed  to  a  chink  I  could  hear 
her  equable,  gentle  breathing,  like  that  of  a  child.  When 
chilled  to  the  bone  I  went  back  to  bed  and  slept  tran- 
quilly till  morning.  I  know  not  what  prenatal  influence, 
what  nature  within  me,  causes  the  delight  I  take  in  going 
to  the  brink  of  precipices,  sounding  the  gulf  of  evil, 
seeking  to  know  its  depths,  feeling  its  icy  chill,  and  re- 
treating in  deep  emotion.  That  hour  of  night  passed 
on  the  threshold  of  her  door  where  I  wept  witli  rage,  — 
though  she  never  knew  that  on  the  morrow  her  foot  had 
trod  upon  my  tears  and  kisses,  on  her  virtue  first  de- 
stroyed and  then  respected,  cursed  and  adored,  —  that 
hour,  foolish  in  the  eyes  of  many,  was  nevertheless  an 
inspiration  of  the  same  mysterious  impulse  which  im- 
pels the  soldier.  Many  have  told  me  they  have  played 
their  lives  upon  it,  flinging  themselves  before  a  battery 
to  know  if  the}T  could  escape  the  shot,  happy  in  thus 
galloping  into  the  ab3'ss  of  probabilities,  and  smoking 
like  Jean  Bart  upon  the  gunpowder. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  185 

The  next  day  I  went  to  gather  flowers  and  made  two 
bouquets.  The  count  admired  them,  though  generally 
nothing  of  the  kind  appealed  to  him.  The  clever  saying 
of  Champcenetz,  "He  builds  dungeons  in  Spain," 
seemed  to  have  been  made  for  him. 

I  spent  several  days  at  Clochegourde,  going  but  sel- 
dom to  Frapesle,  where,  however,  I  dined  three  times. 
The  French  army  now  occupied  Tours.  Though  my 
presence  was  health  and  strength  to  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf,  she  implored  me  to  make  my  way  to  Chateauroux, 
and  so  round  by  Issoudun  and  Orleans  to  Paris  with 
what  haste  I  could.  I  tried  to  resist ;  but  she  com- 
manded me,  saying  that  my  guardian  angel  spoke.  I 
obeyed.  Our  farewell  was,  this  time,  dim  with  tears ; 
she  feared  the  allurements  of  the  life  I  was  about  to  live. 
Is  it  not  a  serious  thing  to  enter  the  maelstrom  of  in- 
terests, passions,  and  pleasures  which  make  Paris  a  dan- 
gerous ocean  for  chaste  love  and  purity  of  conscience? 
I  promised  to  write  to  her  every  night,  relating  the 
events  and  thoughts  of  the  day,  even  the  most  trivial. 
When  I  gave  the  promise  she  laid  her  head  on  my 
shoulder  and  said:  "Leave  nothing  out;  everything 
will  interest  me." 

She  gave  me  letters  for  the  duke  and  duchess,  which 
I  delivered  the  second  day  after  nry  return. 

"  You  are  in  luck,"  said  the  duke  ;  "  dine  here  to-day, 
and  go  with  me  this  evening  to  the  Chateau ;  }Tour  fortune 
is  made.  The  king  spoke  of  you  this  morning,  and  said, 
4  He  is  }Toung,  capable,  and  trustworthy.'  His  Majesty 
added  that  he  wished  he  knew  whether  3-011  were  living 
or  dead,  and  in  what  part  of  France  events  had  thrown 
you  after  you  had  executed  your  mission  so  ably." 


186  The  Lily  of  the    Vo 

That  night  I  was  appointed  master  of  petitions  to  the 
council  of  State,  and  I  also  received  a  private  and  per- 
manent place  in  the  employment  of  Louis  XVIII.  him- 
self, —  a  confidential  position,  not  highly  distinguished, 
but  without  any  risks,  a  position  which  put  me  at  the 
very  heart  of  the  government  and  has  been  the  source 
of  all  my  subsequent  prosperity.  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
had  judged  rightly.  I  now  owed  everything  to  her; 
power  and  wealth,  happiness  and  knowledge ;  she 
guided  and  encouraged  me,  purified  my  heart,  and  gave 
to  my  will  that  unity  of  purpose  without  which  the 
powers  of  youth  are  wasted.  Later  I  had  a  colleague  ; 
we  each  served  six  months.  We  were  allowed  to  supply 
each  other's  place  if  necessary ;  we  had  rooms  at  the 
Chateau,  a  carriage,  and  large  allowances  for  travelling 
when  absent  on  missions.  Strange  position  !  We  were 
the  secret  disciples  of  a  monarch  in  a  policy  to  which 
even  his  enemies  have  since  done  signal  justice ;  alone 
with  us  he  gave  judgment  on  all  things,  foreign  and 
domestic,  yet  we  had  no  legitimate  influence  ;  often  we 
were  consulted  like  Laforet  by  Moliere,  and  made  to  feel 
that  the  hesitations  of  long  experience  were  confirmed 
or  removed  by  the  vigorous  perceptions  of  youth. 

In- other  respects  my  future  was  secured  in  a  manner 
to  satisfy  ambition.  Beside  my  salar}-  as  master  of  pe- 
titions, paid  by  the  budget  of  the  council  of  State,  the 
king  gave  me  a  thousand  francs  a  month  from  his  privy 
purse,  and  often  himself  added  more  to  it.  Though  the 
king  knew  well  that  no  young  man  of  twenty-three 
could  long  bear  up  under  the  labors  with  which  he 
loaded  me,  my  colleague,  now  a  peer  of  France,  was 
not  appointed  till  August,   1817.      The  choice  was  a 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  187 

difficult  one  ;  our  functions  demanded  so  many  capabili- 
ties that  the  king  was  long  in  coming  to  a  decision. 
He  did  me  the  honor  to  ask  which  of  the  young  men 
among  whom  he  was  hesitating  I  should  like  for  an  as- 
sociate. Among  them  was  one  who  had  been  imr  school- 
fellow at  Lepitre's  ;  I  did  not  select  him.  His  Majestj7 
asked  why. 

"  The  king,"  I  replied,  "  chooses  men  who  are  all 
equally  faithful,  but  whose  capacities  differ.  I  choose 
the  one  whom  I  think  the  most  able,  certain  that  I  shall 
always  be  able  to  get  on  with  him." 

My  judgment  coincided  with  that  of  the  king,  who 
was  pleased  with  the  sacrifice  I  had  made.  He  said  on 
this  occasion,  "  You  are  to  be  the  chief;  "  and  he  related 
these  circumstances  to  my  colleague,  who  became,  in 
return  for  the  service  I  had  done  him,  my  good  friend. 
The  consideration  shown  to  me  b}^  the  Due  de  Lenon- 
court  set  the  tone  of  that  wThich  I  met  with  in  societ}r. 
To  have  it  said,  "  The  king  takes  an  interest  in  the  young 
man  ;  that  young  man  has  a  future,  the  king  likes  him," 
would  have  served  me  in  place  of  talents  ;  and  it  now 
gave  to  the  kindly  welcome  accorded  to  youth  a  certain 
respect  that  is  only  given  to  power.  In  the  salon  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt  and  also  at  the  house  of  my 
sister  who  had  just  married  the  Marquis  de  Listomere, 
son  of  the  old  lady  in  the  lie  St.  Louis,  I  gradually 
came  to  know  the  influential  personages  of  the  Faubourg 
St.  Germain. 

Henriette  herself  put  me  at  the  heart  of  the  circle  then 
called  "  le  Petit  Chateau"  by  the  help  of  her  great-aunt, 
the  Princesse  de  Blamont-Chauvry,  to  whom  she  wrote 
so  warmly  in  my  behalf  that  the  princess  immediatel}* 


188  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

sent  for  me.  I  cultivated  her  and  contrived  to  please 
her,  and  she  became,  not  my  protectress  but  a  friend, 
in  whose  kindness  there  was  something  maternal.  The 
old  lady  took  pains  to  make  me  intimate  with  her 
daughter  Madame  d'Espard,  with  the  Duchesse  de  Lan- 
geais,  the  Vic'omtesse  de  Beauseant,  and  the  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse,  women  who  held  the  sceptre  of  fashion, 
and  who  were  all  the  more  gracious  to  me  because  I 
made  no  pretensions  and  was  always  ready  to  be  useful 
and  agreeable  to  them.  My  brother  Charles,  far  from 
avoiding  me,  now  began  to  lean  upon  me  ;  but  m}T  rapid 
success  roused  a  secret  jealous}'  in  his  mind  which  in 
after  }Tears  caused  me  great  vexation.  M}r  father  and 
mother,  surprised  b}r  a  triumph  so  unexpected,  felt  their 
vanity  flattered,  and  received  me  at  last  as  a  son.  But 
their  feeling  was  too  artificial,  I  might  say  false,  to  let 
their  present  treatment  have  much  influence  upon  a  sore 
heart.  I  Affections  stained  with  selfishness  win  little  S3'in- 
pathy ;  the  heart  abhors  calculations  and  profits  of  all 
kinds. 

I  wrote  regularly  to  my  dear  Henriette,  who  answered 
by  two  letters  a  month.  Her  spirit  hovered  over  me, 
her  thoughts  traversed  space  and  made  the  atmosphere 
around  me  pure.  No  woman  could  captivate  me.  The 
king  noticed  my  reserve,  and  as,  in  this  respect,  he  be- 
longed to  the  school  of  Louis  XV.,  he  called  me,  in  jest, 
Mademoiselle  de  Vandenesse  ;  but  my  conduct  pleased 
him.  I  am  convinced  that  the  habit  of  patience  I  ac- 
quired in  my  childhood  and  practised  at  Clochegourde 
had  much  to  do  in  my  winning  the  favor  of  the  king, 
who  was  always  most  kind  to  me.  He  no  doubt  took  a 
fancy  to  read  my  letters,  for  he  soon  gave  up  his  notion 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  189 

of  my  life  as  that  of  a  3-oung  girl.  One  day  when  the 
duke  was  on  duty,  and  I  was  writing  at  the  king's  dic- 
tation, the  latter  suddenly  remarked,  in  that  fine,  silvery 
voice  of  his,  to  which  he  could  give,  when  he  chose,  the 
biting  tone  of  epigram  :  — 

"  So  that  poor  devil  of  a  Mortsauf  persists  in  living  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  duke. 

"Madame  de  Mortsauf  is  an  angel,  whom  I  should 
like  to  see  at  my  court,"  continued  the  king;  "but  if 
I  cannot  manage  it,  my  chancellor  here,"  turning  to  me, 
"  may  be  more  fortunate.  You  are  to  have  six  months' 
leave ;  I  have  decided  on  giving  3tou  the  young  man  we 
spoke  of  yesterda}r  as  colleague.  Amuse  yourself  at 
Clochegourde,  friend  Cato !  "  and  he  laughed  as  he  bad 
himself  wheeled  out  of  the  room. 

I  flew  like  a  swallow  to  Touraine.  For  the  first  time 
I  was  to  show  myself  to  m}r  beloved,  not  mere!}-  a  little 
less  insignificant,  but  actually  in  the  guise  of  an  elegant 
young  man,  whose  manners  had  been  formed  in  the 
best  salons,  his  education  finished  by  gracious  women  ; 
who  had  found  at  last  a  compensation  for  all  his  suffer- 
ings, and  had  put  to  use  the  experience  given  to  him  by 
the  purest  angel  to  whom  heaven  had  ever  committed 
the  care  of  a  child.  You  know  how  1113'  mother  had 
equipped  me  for  my  three  months'  visit  at  Frapesle. 
When  I  reached  Clochegourde  after  fulfilling  my  mis- 
sion in  Vendee,  I  was  dressed  like  a  huntsman  ;  I  wore 
a  jacket  with  white  and  red  buttons,  striped  trousers, 
leathern  gaiters  and  shoes.  Tramping  through  under- 
brush had  so  injured  my  clothes  that  the  count  was 
obliged  to  lend  me  linen.  On  the  present  occasion,  two 
years'   residence    in    Paris,   constant   intercourse   with 


190  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

the  king,  the  habits  of  a  life  at  ease,  my  completed 
growth,  a  youthful  countenance,  which  derived  a  lustre 
from  the  placidit}r  of  the  soul  within  magnetically 
united  with  the  pure  soul  that  beamed  on  me  from 
Clochegourde,  —  all  these  things  combined  had  trans- 
formed me.  I  was  self-possessed  without  conceit,  in- 
wardly pleased  to  find  myself,  in  spite  of  ui}r  years,  at 
the  summit  of  affairs ;  above  all,  I  had  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  secretly  the  support  and  comfort  of  the 
dearest  woman  on  earth,  and  her  unuttered  hope.  Per- 
haps I  felt  a  flutter  of  vanity  as  the  postilions  cracked 
their  whips  along  the  new  avenue  leading  from  the  main 
road  to  Clochegourde  and  through  an  iron  gate  I  had 
never  seen  before,  which  opened  into  a  circular  enclosure 
recently  constructed.  I  had  not  written  to  the  countess 
of  my  coming,  wishing  to  surprise  her.  For  this  I  found 
myself  doubly  in  fault :  first,  she  was  overwhelmed  with 
the  excitement  of  a  pleasure  long  desired,  but  supposed 
to  be  impossible ;  and  secondly,  she  proved  to  me  that 
all  such  deliberate  surprises  are  in  bad  taste. 

When  Henriette  saw  a  }'oung  man  in  him  who  had 
hitherto  seemed  but  a  child  to  her,  she  lowered  her  eyes 
with  a  sort  of  tragic  slowness.  She  allowed  me  to  take 
and  kiss  her  hand  without  betraying  her  inward  pleas- 
ure, which  I  nevertheless  felt  in  her  sensitive  shiver. 
When  she  raised  her  face  to  look  at  me  again,  I  saw 
that  she  was  pale. 

"Well,  }'ou  don't  forget  your  old  friends?"  said 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  who  had  neither  changed  nor 
aged. 

The  children  sprang  upon  me.  I  saw  behind  them 
the  grave  face  of  the  Abbe  Dominis,  Jacques'  tutor. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  191 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  and  in  future  I  am  to  have  six 
months'  leave,  which  will  always  be  spent  here  — 
Why,  what  is  the  matter?"  I  said  to  the  countess,  put- 
ting my  arm  round  her  waist  and  holding  her  up  in 
presence  of  them  all. 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  said,  springing  away  from  me; 
"it  is  nothing." 

I  read  her  mind,  and  answered  to  its  secret  thought 
by  saying,  "  Am  I  not  allowed  to  be  your  faithful 
slave?" 

She  took  mj'  arm,  left  the  count,  the  children,  and  the 
abbe,  and  led  me  to  a  distance  on  the  lawn,  though 
still  within  sight  of  the  others  ;  then,  when  sure  that  her 
voice  could  not  be  heard  b}r  them,  she  spoke. 

"Felix,  m}'  dear  friend,"  she  said,  "forgive  my 
fears ;  I  have  but  one  thread  by  which  to  guide  me  in 
the  labyrinth  of  life,  and  I  dread  to  see  it  broken.  Tell 
me  that  I  am  more  than  ever  Henriette  to  }tou,  that  you 
will  never  abandon  me,  that  nothing  shall  prevail  against 
me,  that  you  will  ever  be  m}T  devoted  friend.  I  have 
suddenly  had  a  glimpse  into  my  future,  and  you  were 
not  there,  as  hitherto,  3-our  eyes  shining  and  fixed,  upon 
me  —  " 

"Henriette!  idol  whose  worship  is  like  that  of  the 
Divine,  —  lily,  flower  of  my  life,  how  is  it  that  }'ou  do  not 
know,  }tou  who  are  nvy  conscience,  that  my  being  is  so 
fused  with  yours  that  my  soul  is  here  when  my  body  is 
in  Paris?  Must  I  tell  you  that  I  have  come  in  seven- 
teen hours,  that  each  turn  of  the  wheels  gathered 
thoughts  and  desires  in  my  breast,  which  burst  forth 
like  a  tempest  when  I  saw  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  tell  me  !  tell  me  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  I  am  so  sure 


192  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

of  myself  that  I  can  hear  3*011  without  wrong.  God 
does  not  will  my  death.  He  sends  you  to  me  as  he 
sends  his  breath  to  his  creatures ;  as  he  pours  the  rain 
of  his  clouds  upon  a  parched  earth,  —  tell  me  !  tell  me  ! 
Do  3*011  love  me  sacredl3*  ?  " 

"  Sacredly." 

"Forever?" 

-•Forever." 

"Asa  virgin  Maiy,  hidden  behind  her  veil,  beneath 
her  white  crown?" 

"  As  a  virgin  visible." 

"Asa  sister?" 

"Asa  sister  too  dearly  loved." 

"  With  chivalry*  and  without  hope?  " 

"  With  chivalr3*  and  with  hope.'* 

"  As  if  you  were  still  twenty  3*ears  of  age,  and  wear- 
ing that  absurd  blue  coat?" 

"  Oh  better  far!  I  love  3*011  thus,  and  I  also  love 
3*ou  "  —  she  looked  at  me  with  keen  apprehension  — ■ 
"as  3*ou  loved  3'our  aunt." 

"I  am  happ3* !  You  dispel  1113*  terrors,"  she  said, 
returning  towards  the  famih*,  who  were  surprised  at 
our  private  conference.  "  Be  still  a  child  at  Cloche- 
gourde  —  for  you  are  one  still.  It  ma3*  be  3'our  policy 
to  be  a  man  with  the  king,  but  here,  let  me  tell  3'ou,  mon- 
sieur, 3*our  best  policy  is  to  remain  a  child.  As  a  child 
3*011  shall  be  loved.  I  can  resist  a  man,  but  to  a  child  I 
can  refuse  nothing,  nothing !  He  can  ask  for  nothing 
I  will  not  give  him.  — Our  secrets  are  all  told,"  she  said, 
looking  at  the  count  with  a  mischievous  air,  in  which 
her  girlish,  natural  self  reappeared.  "  I  leave  3'ou  now  ; 
I  must  go  and  dress." 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  193 

Never  for  three  years  had  I  heard  her  voice  so  richly 
happ}\  For  the  first  time  I  heard  those  swallow  cries, 
the  infantile  notes  of  which  I  told  you.  I  had  brought 
Jacques  a  hunting  outfit,  and  for  Madeleine  a  work-box 
—  which  her  mother  afterwards  used.  The  joy  of  the  two 
children,  delighted  to  show  their  presents  to  each  other, 
seemed  to  annoy  the  count,  alwa3*s  dissatisfied  when 
attention  was  withdrawn  from  himself.  I  made  a  sign 
to  Madeleine  and  followed  her  father,  who  wanted  to 
talk  to  me  of  his  ailments. 

"  M3-  poor  Felix,"  he  said,  "you  see  how  happy  and 
well  the}*  all  are.  I  am  the  shadow  on  the  picture  ;  all 
their  ills  'are  transferred  to  me,  and  I  bless  God  that  it 
is  so.  Formerly  I  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter 
with  me  ;  now  I  know.  The  orifice  of  my  stomach  is 
affected  ;  I  can  digest  nothing." 

"  How  do  you  come  to  be  as  wise  as  the  professor  of 
a  medical  school?"  I  asked,  laughing.  "  Is  your  doc- 
tor indiscreet  enough  to  tell  you  such  things  ?  " 

u  God  forbid  I  should  consult  a  doctor,"  he  cried, 
showing  the  aversion  most  imaginary  invalids  feel  for 
the  medical  profession. 

I  now  listened  to  much  crazy  talk,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  made  the  most  absurd  confidences,  —  com- 
plained of  his  wife,  of  the  servants,  of  the  children,  of 
life,  evidently  pleased  to  repeat  his  daily  speeches  to 
a  friend  who,  not  having  heard  them  daily,  might  be 
alarmed,  and  who  at  any  rate  was  forced  to  listen  out 
of  politeness.  He  must  have  been  satisfied,  for  I  paid 
him  the  utmost  attention,  trying  to  penetrate  his  incon- 
ceivable nature,  and  to  guess  what  new  tortures  he  had 
been  inflicting  on  his  wife,  of  which  she  had  not  written 

13 


194  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

to  me.  Henriette  presently  put  an  end  to  the  mono- 
logue by  appearing  in  the  portico.  The  count  saw  her, 
shook  his  head,  and  said  to  me:  "You  listen  to  me, 
Felix  ;  but  here  no  one  pities  me." 

He  went  away,  as  if  aware  of  the  constraint  he  im- 
posed on  my  intercourse  with  Henriette,  or  perhaps 
from  a  really  chivalrous  consideration  for  her,  knowing 
he  could  give  her  pleasure  by  leaving  us  alone.  His 
character  exhibited  contradictions  that  were  often  in- 
explicable ;  he  was  jealous,  like  all  weak  beings,  but 
his  confidence  in  his  wife's  sanctity  was  boundless.  It 
may  have  been  the  sufferings  of  his  own  self-esteem, 
wounded  by  the  superiority  of  that  lofty  virtue,  which 
made  him  so  eager  to  oppose  every  wish  of  the  poor 
woman,  whom  he  braved  as  children  brave  their  masters 
or  their  mothers. 

Jacques  was  taking  his  lesson,  and  Madeleine  was 
being  dressed;  I  had  therefore  a  whole  hour  to  walk 
with  the  countess  alone  on  the  terrace. 

"  Dear  angel !  "  I  said,  "  the  chains  are  heavier,  the 
sands  hotter,  the  thorns  grow  apace." 

"  Hush  !  "  she  said,  guessing  the  thoughts  my  conver- 
sation with  the  count  had  suggested.  "  You  are  here, 
and  all  is  forgotten !  I  don't  suffer ;  I  have  never 
suffered." 

She  made  a  few  light  steps  as  if  to  shake  her  dress 
and  give  to  the  breeze  its  ruches  of  snowy  tulle,  its 
floating  sleeves  and  fresh  ribbons,  the  laces  of  her 
pelerine,  and  the  flowing  curls  of  her  coiffure  a  la 
Sevigne  ;  I  saw  her  for  the  first  time  a  young  girl, — 
gay  with  her  natural  gayety,  ready  to  frolic  like  a 
child.      I   knew  then  the  meaning  of  tears  of  happi- 


The   Lily  of  the    Valley.  195 

ness ;  I  knew  the  J03-  a  man  feels  in  bringing  happi- 
ness to  another. 

kw  Sweet  human  flower,  wooed  by  my  thought,  kissed 
b}'  m}'  soul,  oh  m}r  lily  !  "  I  cried,  "  untouched,  un- 
touchable upon  th}'  stem,  white,  proud,  fragrant,  and 
solitary  —  " 

"  Enough,  enough,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  Speak  to  me 
of  yourself;  tell  me  eveiy  thing." 

Then,  beneath  the  swaying  arch  of  quivering  leaves, 
we  had  a  long  conversation,  filled  with  interminable 
parentheses,  subjects  taken,  dropped,  and  retaken,  in 
which  I  told  her  my  life  and  nry  occupations ;  I  even 
described  my  apartment  in  Paris,  for  she  wished  to 
know  everything;  and  (happiness  then  unappreciated) 
I  had  nothing  to  conceal.  Knowing  thus  my  soul  and 
all  the  details  of  a  daily  life  full  of  incessant  toil, 
learning  the  full  extent  of  my  functions,  which  to  any 
one  not  sternl}'  upright  offered  opportunities  for  de- 
ception and  dishonest  gains,  but  which  I  had  exercised 
with  such  rigid  honor  that  the  king,  I  told  her,  called  me 
Mademoiselle  de  Vandenesse,  she  seized  my  hand  and 
kissed  it,  and  dropped  a  tear,  a  tear  of  joy,  upon  it. 

This  sudden  transposition  of  our  roles,  this  homage, 
coupled  with  the  thought  —  swiftly  expressed  but  as 
swiftly  comprehended — "Here  is  the  master  I  have 
sought,  here  is  my  dream  embodied  !  "  all  that  there  was 
of  avowal  in  the  action,  grand  in  its  humility,  where  love 
betrayed  itself  in  a  region  forbidden  to  the  senses,  — 
this  whirlwind  of  celestial  things  fell  on  my  heart  and 
crushed  it.  I  felt  nvyself  too  small ;  I  wished  to  die  at 
her  feet. 

"  Ah  !  "  I  said,  "  3-011  surpass  us  in  all  things.     Can 


196  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

3'ou  doubt  me?  —  for  you  did  doubt  me  just  now, 
Henriette." 

"Not  now,"  she  answered,  looking  at  me  with  in- 
effable tenderness,  which,  for  a  moment,  veiled  the  light 
of  her  eyes.  "  But  seeing  you  so  changed,  so  hand- 
some, I  said  to  myself,  '  Our  plans  for  Madeleine  will 
be  defeated  by  some  woman  who  will  guess  the 
treasures  in  his  heart ;  she  will  steal  our  Felix,  and 
destroy  all  happiness  here.'  " 

"  Always  Madeleine  !  "  I  replied.  "  Is  it  Madeleine 
to  whom  I  am  faithful?" 

We  fell  into  a  silence  which  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
inconveniently  interrupted.  I  was  forced  to  keep  up  a 
conversation  bristling  with  difficulties,  in  which  m}r 
honest  replies  as  to  the  king's  polic}T  jarred  with  the 
count's  ideas,  and  he  forced  me  to  explain  again  and 
again  the  king's  intentions.  In  spite  of  all  my  ques- 
tions as  to  his  horses,  his  agricultural  affairs,  whether 
he  was  satisfied  with  his  five  farms,  whether  he  meant 
to  cut  the  timber  of  the  old  avenue,  he  returned  to 
the  subject  of  politics  with  the  pestering  faculty  of  an 
old  maid  and  the  persistenc}Tof  a  child.  Minds  like  his 
prefer  to  dash  themselves  against  the  light ;  the}' return 
again  and  again  and  hum  about  it  without  ever  getting 
into  it,  like  those  big  flies  which  weary  our  ears  as 
they  buzz  upon  the  glass. 

Henriette  was  silent.  To  stop  the  conversation,  in 
which  I  feared  my  young  blood  might  take  fire,  I 
answered  in  monosyllables,  mostly  acquiescent,  avoiding 
discussion ;  but  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  had  too  much 
sense  not  to  perceive  the  meaning  of  my  politeness. 
Presently  he  was  angry  at  being  always  in  the  right ; 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  197 

he  grew  refractor}',  his  e}'ebrows  and  the  wrinkles  of 
his  forehead  worked,  his  yellow  eyes  blazed,  his  rufous 
nose  grew  redder,  as  it  did  on  the  day  I  first  witnessed  an 
attack  of  madness.  Henriette  gave  me  a  supplicating 
look,  making  me  understand  that  she  could  not  emplo}r 
on  my  behalf  an  authority  to  which  she  had  recourse  to 
protect  her  children.  I  at  once  answered  the  count 
seriously,  taking  up  the  political  question,  and  managing 
his  peevish  spirit  with  the  utmost  care. 

"Poor  dear!  poor  dear!"  she  murmured  two  or 
three  times ;  the  words  reaching  my  ear  like  a  gentle 
breeze.  When  she  could  intervene  with  success  she 
said,  interrupting  us,  "  Let  me  tell  you,  gentlemen,  that 
you  are  ver}'  dull  company." 

Recalled  by,  this  observation  to  his  chivalrous  sense 
of  what  was  due  to  a  woman,  the  count  ceased  to  talk 
politics,  and  as  we  bored  him  in  our  turn  by  common- 
place matters,  he  presently  left  us  to  continue  our  walk, 
declaring  that  it  made  his  head  spin  to  go  round  and 
round  on  the  same  path. 

My  sad  conjectures  were  true.  The  soft  landscape, 
the  warm  atmosphere,  the  cloudless  skies,  the  soothing 
poetry  of  this  valley,  which  for  fifteen  3'ears  had  calmed 
the  stinging  fancies  of  that  diseased  mind,  were  now 
impotent.  At  a  period  of  life  when  the  asperities  of 
other  men  are  softened  and  their  angles  smoothed,  the 
disposition  of  this  man  became  more  and  more  aggres- 
sive. For  the  last  few  months  he  had  taken  a  habit  of 
contradicting  for  the  sake  of  contradiction,  without 
reason,  without  even  trying  to  justify  his  opinions ;  he 
insisted  on  knowing  the  why  and  the  wherefore  of 
everything  ;  grew  restless  under  a  delay  or  an  omission  ; 


198  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

meddled  with  every  item  of  the  household  affairs,  and 
compelled  his  wife  and  the  servants  to  render  him  the 
most  minute  and  fatiguing  account  of  all  that  was 
done ;  never  allowing  them  the  slightest  freedom  of 
action.  Formerly  he  did  not  lose  his  temper  except  for 
some  special  reason  ;  now  his  irritation  was  constant. 
Perhaps  the  care  of  his  farms,  the  interests  of  agri- 
culture, an  active  out-door  life  had  formerly  soothed 
his  atrabilious  temper  by  giving  it  a  field  for  its  un- 
easiness, and  by  furnishing  employment  for  his  activity. 
Possibly  the  loss  of  such  occupation  had  allowed  his 
malady  to  prey  upon  itself;  no  longer  exercised  on  mat- 
ters without,  it  was  showing  itself  in  more  fixed  ideas ; 
the  moral  being  was  laying  hold  of  the  physical  being. 
He  had  latel}'  become  his  own  doctor ;  he  studied 
medical  books,  fancied  he  had  the  diseases  he  read  of, 
and  took  the  most  extraordinary  and  unheard  of  pre- 
cautions about  his  health,  —  precautions  never  the  same, 
impossible  to  foresee,  and  consequently  impossible  to 
satisfy.  Sometimes  he  wanted  no  noise  ;  then,  when 
the  countess  had  succeeded  in  establishing  absolute 
silence.,  he  would  declare  he  was  in  a  tomb,  and  blame 
her  for  not  finding  some  medium  between  incessant 
noise  and  the  stillness  of  La  Trappe.  Sometimes  he 
affected  a  perfect  indifference  to  all  earthly  things. 
Then  the  whole  household  breathed  freely ;  the  children 
played  ;  family  affairs  went  on  without  criticism.  Sud- 
denly he  would  cry  out  lamentably,  "  They  want  to  kill 
me  !  —  My  dear,"  he  would  say  to  his  wife,  increasing 
the  injustice  of  his  words  by  the  aggravating  tones  of  his 
sharp  voice,  "if  it  concerned  }'our  children  }-ou  would 
know  very  well  what  was  the  matter  with  them." 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley,  199 

He  dressed  and  re-dressed  himself  incessantly,  watch- 
ing every  change  of  temperature,  and  doing  nothing 
without  consulting  the  barometer.  Notwithstanding  his 
wife's  attentions,  he  found  no  food  to  suit  him,  his 
stomach  being,  he  said,  impaired,  and  digestion  so 
painful  as  to  keep  him  awake  all  night.  In  spite  of 
this  he  ate,  drank,  digested,  and  slept,  in  a  manner  to 
satisfy  any  doctor.  His  capricious  will  exhausted  the 
patience  of  the  servants,  accustomed  to  the  beaten  track 
of  domestic  service  and  unable  to  conform  to  the  re- 
quirements of  his  conflicting  orders.  Sometimes  he 
bade  them  keep  all  the  windows  open,  declaring  that 
his  health  required  a  current  of  fresh  air ;  a  few  days 
later  the  fresh  air,  being  too  hot  or  too  damp,  as  the 
case  might  be,  became  intolerable ;  then  he  scolded, 
quarrelled  with  the  servants,  and  in  order  to  justif}'  him- 
self, denied  his  former  orders.  This  defect  of  memor}-, 
or  this  bad  faith,  call  it  which  }-ou  will,  always  carried 
the  day  against  his  wife  in  the  arguments  b}^  which  she 
tried  to  pit  him  against  himself.  Life  at  Clochegourde 
had  become  so  intolerable  that  the  Abbe  Dominis,  a 
man  of  great  learning,  took  refuge  in  the  study  of  sci- 
entific problems,  and  withdrew  into  the  shelter  of  pre- 
tended abstraction.  The  countess  had  no  longer  any 
hope  of  hiding  the  secret  of  these  insane  furies  within 
the  circle  of  her  own  home  ;  the  servants  had  witnessed 
scenes  of  exasperation  without  exciting  cause,  in  which 
the  premature  old  man  passed  the  bounds  of  reason. 
They  were,  however,  so  devoted  to  the  countess  that 
nothing  so  far  had  transpired  outside ;  but  she  dreaded 
daily  some  public  outburst  of  a  frenzy  no  longer  con- 
trolled by  respect  for  opinion. 


200  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

Later  I  learned  the  dreadful  details  of  the  count's 
treatment  of  his  wife.  Instead  of  supporting  her  when 
the  children  were  ill,  he  assailed  her  with  dark  predic- 
tions and  made  her  responsible  for  all  future  illnesses, 
because  she  refused  to  let  the  children  take  the  crazy 
doses  which  he  prescribed.  When  she  went  to  walk 
with  them  the  count  would  predict  a  storm  in  the  face 
of  a  clear  sky  ;  if  by  chance  the  prediction  proved  true, 
the  satisfaction  he  felt  made  him  quite  indifferent  to 
any  harm  to  the  children.  If  one  of  them  was  ailing, 
the  count  gave  his  whole  mind  to  fastening  the  cause  of 
the  illness  upon  the  system  of  nursing  adopted  by  his 
wife,  whom  he  carped  at  for  every  trifling  detail,  always 
ending  with  the  cruel  words,  "  If  your  children  fall  ill 
again  you  have  only  yourself  to  thank  for  it." 

He  behaved  in  the  same  way  in  the  management  of 
the  household,  seeing  the  worst  side  of  everything,  and 
making  himself,  as  his  old  coachman  said,  "  the  devil's 
own  advocate."  The  countess  arranged  that  Jacques 
and  Madeleine  should  take  their  meals  alone  at  differ- 
ent hours  from  the  family,  so  as  to  save  them  from  the 
count's  outbursts  and  draw  all  the  storms  upon  herself. 
In  this  way  the  children  now  saw  but  little  of  their 
father.  By  one  of  the  hallucinations  peculiar  to  sel- 
fish persons,  the  count  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  the 
misery  he  caused.  In  the  confidential  communication 
he  made  to  me  on  m}*  arrival  he  particularly  dwelt  on 
his  goodness  to  his  family.  He  wielded  the  flail,  beat, 
bruised,  and  broke  everything  about  him  as  a  monkey 
might  have  done.  Then,  having  half-destroyed  his  prey, 
he  denied  having  touched  it.  I  now  understood  the 
lines  on  Henriette's  forehead,  —  fine  lines,  traced  as  it 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  201 

were  with  the  edge  of  a  razor,  which  I  had  noticed 
the  moment  I  saw  her.  There  is  a  pudicity  in  noble 
minds  which  withholds  them  from  speaking  of  their 
personal  sufferings ;  proudly  they  hide  the  extent  of 
their  woes  from  hearts  that  love  them,  feeling  a  mer- 
ciful joy  in  doing  so.  Therefore  in  spite  of  my  ur- 
gency, I  did  not  immediately  obtain  the  truth  from 
Henriette.  She  feared  to  grieve  me ;  she  made  brief 
admissions,  and  then  blushed  for  them ;  but  I  soon 
perceived  myself  the  increase  of  trouble  which  the 
count's  present  want  of  regular  occupation  had  brought 
upon  the  household. 

"  Henriette,"  I  said,  after  I  had  been  there  some 
days,  "  don't  you  think  you  have  made  a  mistake  in  so 
arranging  the  estate  that  the  count  has  no  longer  any- 
thing to  do?" 

"Dear,"  she  said,  smiling,  "my  situation  is  critical 
enough  to  take  all  my  attention ;  believe  me,  I  have 
considered  all  my  resources,  and  they  are  now  ex- 
hausted. It  is  true  that  the  bickerings  are  getting 
worse  and  worse.  As  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  and  I 
are  always  together,  I  cannot  lessen  them  by  divert- 
ing his  attention  in  other  directions ;  in  fact  the  pain 
would  be  the  same  to  me  in  any  case.  I  did  think  of 
advising  him  to  start  a  nursery  for  silk-worms  at  Cloche- 
gourde,  where  we  have  many  mulberry- trees,  remains 
of  the  old  industry  of  Touraine.  But  I  reflected  that 
he  would  still  be  the  same  tyrant  at  home,  and  I  should 
have  many  more  annoyances  through  the  enterprise. 
You  will  learn,  my  dear  observer,  that  in  youth  a  man's 
ill  qualities  are  restrained  by  societ}T,  checked  in  their 
swing  by  the  play  of  passions,  subdued  under  the  fear 


202  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

of  public  opinion  ;  later,  a  middle-aged  man,  living  in 
solitude,  shows  his  native  defects,  which  are  all  the 
more  terrible  because  so  long  repressed.  Human  weak- 
nesses are  essentially  base  ;  they  allow  of  neither  peace 
nor  truce  ;  what  you  yield  to  them  to-day  they  exact  to- 
morrow, and  always ;  they  fasten  on  concessions  and 
compel  more  of  them.  Power,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
merciful ;  it  conforms  to  evidence,  it  is  just  and  it  is 
peaceable.  But  the  passions  born  of  weakness  are 
implacable.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  takes  an  absolute 
pleasure  in  getting  the  better  of  me  ;  and  he  who  would 
deceive  no  one  else,  deceives  me  with  delight." 

One  morning  as  we  left  the  breakfast  table,  about  a 
month  after  nw  arrival,  the  countess  took  me  by  the 
arm,  darted  through  an  iron  gate  which  led  into  the 
vineyard,  and  dragged  me  hastily  among  the  vines. 

"  He  will  kill  me  !  "  she  cried.  "  And  I  want  to  live 
—  for  my  children's  sake.  But  oh  !  not  a  day's  respite  ! 
Always  to  walk  among  thorns !  to  come  near  falling 
every  instant !  every  instant  to  have  to  summon  all  my 
strength  to  keep  my  balance !  No  human  being  can 
long  endure  such  a  strain  upon  the  s}Tstem.  If  I  were 
certain  of  the  ground  I  ought  to  take,  if  my  resistance 
could  be  a  settled  thing,  then  nry  mind  might  concentrate 
upon  it  —  but  no,  every  day  the  attacks  change  charac- 
ter and  leave  me  without  defence ;  my  sorrows  are  not 
one,  they  are  manifold.  Ah!  my  friend  —  "  she  cried, 
leaning  her  head  upon  my  shoulder,  and  not  continuing 
her  confidence.  "  What  will  become  of  me?  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do  ?  "  she  said  presently,  struggling  with  thoughts 
she  did  not  express.  "  How  can  I  resist?  He  will  kill 
me !     No,  I  will  kill  myself —  but  that  would  be  a  crime  ! 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  203 

Escape  ?  yes,  but  m}7  children  !  Separate  from  him  ? 
how,  after  fifteen  }'ears  of  marriage,  how  could  I  ever 
tell  my  parents  that  I  will  not  live  with  him  ?  for  if  my 
father  and  mother  came  here  he  would  be  calm,  polite, 
intelligent,  judicious.  Besides,  can  married  women 
look  to  fathers  or  mothers  ?  Do  they  not  belong  body 
and  soul  to  their  husbands?  I  could  live  tranquil  if 
not  happy  —  I  have  found  strength  in  my  chaste  soli- 
tude, I  admit  it ;  but  if  I  am  deprived  of  this  negative 
happiness  I  too  shall  become  insane.  My  resistance  is 
based  on  powerful  reasons  which  are  not  personal  to 
myself.  It  is  a  crime  to  give  birth  to  poor  creatures 
condemned  to  endless  suffering.  Yet  inj'  position  raises 
serious  questions,  so  serious  that  I  dare  not  decide  them 
alone  ;  I  cannot  be  judge  and  part}'  both.  To-morrow 
I  will  go  to  Tours  and  consult  my  new  confessor,  the 
Abbe  Birotteau  —  for  my  dear  and  virtuous  Abbe  de  la 
Berge  is  dead,"  she  said,  interrupting  herself.  "  Though 
he  was  severe,  I  miss  and  shall  alwaj's  miss  his  apostolic 
power.  His  successor  is  an  angel  of  goodness,  who  pities 
but  does  not  reprimand.  Still,  all  courage  draws  fresh 
life  from  the  heart  of  religion  ;  what  soul  is  not  strength- 
ened by  the  voice  of  the  Holy  Spirit?  My  God,"  she 
said,  drying  her  tears  and  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven, 
u  for  what  sin  am  I  thus  punished?  —  I  believe,  yes, 
Felix,  I  believe  it,  we  must  pass  through  a  fiery  furnace 
before  we  reach  the  saints,  the  just  made  perfect  of  the 
upper  spheres.  Must  I  keep  silence?  Am  I  forbidden, 
oh,  my  God,  to  cry  to  the  heart  of  a  friend?  Do  I  love 
him  too  well?"  She  pressed  me  to  her  heart  as  though 
she  feared  to  lose  me.  "  Who  will  solve  my  doubts  ? 
My  conscience  does  not  reproach  me.     The  stars  shine 


204  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

from  above  on  men  ;  may  not  the  soul,  the  human  star, 
shed  its  light  upon  a  friend,  if  we  go  to  him  with  pure 
thoughts?" 

I  listened  to  this  dreadful  ciy  in  silence,  holding  her 
moist  hand  in  mine  that  was  still  more  moist.  I  pressed 
it  with  a  force  to  which  Henriette  replied  with  an  equal 
pressure. 

"  Where  are  }~ou?  "  cried  the  count,  who  came  towards 
us,  bareheaded. 

Ever  since  my  return  he  had  insisted  on  sharing  our 
interviews,  —  either  because  he  wanted  amusement,  or 
feared  the  countess  would  tell  me  her  sorrows  and 
complain  to  me,  or  because  he  was  jealous  of  a  pleasure 
he  did  not  share. 

"  How  he  follows  me  !  "  she  cried,  in  a  tone  of  despair. 
"  Let  us  go  into  the  orchard,  wre  shall  escape  him.  We 
can  stoop  as  we  run  b}T  the  hedge,  and  he  will  not  see 
us." 

We  made  the  hedge  a  rampart  and  reached  the  enclos- 
ure, where  we  were  soon  at  a  good  distance  from  the 
count  in  an  alley  of  almond-trees. 

"Dear  Henriette,"  I  then  said  to  her,  pressing  her 
arm  against  my  heart  and  stopping  to  contemplate  her 
in  her  sorrow,  "you  have  guided  me  with  true  knowledge 
along  the  perilous  ways  of  the  great  world  ;  let  me  in 
return  give  you  some  advice  which  may  help  you  to  end 
this  duel  without  witnesses,  in  which  you  must  inevitably 
be  worsted,  for  \'OU  are  fighting  with  unequal  weapons. 
You  must  not  struggle  an\-  longer  with  a  madman  —  " 

"  Hush  !  "  she  said,  dashing  aside  the  tears  that  rolled 
from  her  eyes. 

"  Listen  to  me,  dear,"  I  continued.     "  After  a  single 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  205 

hour's  talk  with  the  count,  which  I  force  myself  to  endure 
for  love  of  you,  my  thoughts  are  bewildered,  my  head 
heavy  ;  he  makes  me  doubtful  of  my  own  intellect ;  the 
same  ideas  repeated  over  and  over  again  seem  to  burn 
themselves  on  my  brain.  Well-defined  monomanias 
are  not  communicated  ;  but  when  the  madness  consists 
in  a  distorted  way  of  looking  at  everything,  and  when 
it  lurks  under  all  discussions,  then  it  can  and  does  in- 
jure the  minds  of  those  who  live  with  it.  Your  patience 
is  sublime,  but  will  it  not  end  in  disordering -you?  For 
your  sake,  for  that  of  your  children,  change  your  system 
with  the  count.  Your  adorable  kindness  has  made  him 
selfish;  you  have  treated  him  as  a  mother  treats  the 
child  she  spoils  ;  but  now,  if  you  want  to  live  —  and 
3'ou  do  want  it,"  I  said,  looking  at  her,  "  use  the  con- 
trol 3*011  have  over  him.  You  know  what  it  is  ;  he  loves 
you  and  he  fears  you  ;  make  him  fear  you  more  ;  oppose 
his  erratic  will  with  your  firm  will.  Extend  your  power 
over  him,  confine  his  madness  to  a  moral  sphere  just  as 
we  lock  maniacs  in  a  cell." 

"  Dear  child,"  she  said,  smiling  bitterly,  "  a  woman 
without  a  heart  might  do  it.  But  I  am  a  mother ;  I 
should  make  a  poor  jailer.  Yes,  I  can  suffer,  but  I 
cannot  make  others  suffer.  Never  !  "  she  said,  "  never  ! 
not  even  to  obtain  some  great  and  honorable  result. 
Besides,  I  should  have  to  lie  in  mjr  heart,  disguise,  my 
voice,  lower  my  head,  degrade  my  gesture  —  do  not 
ask  of  me  such  falsehoods.  I  can  stand  between  Mon- 
sieur de  Mortsauf  and  his  children,  I  willingly  receive 
his  blows  that  the}T  may  not  fall  on  others  ;  I  can  do 
all  that,  and  will  do  it  to  conciliate  conflicting  interests, 
but  I  can  do  no  more." 


206  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

"Let  me  worship  thee,  O  saint,  thrice  holy!"  I 
exclaimed,  kneeling  at  her  feet  and  kissing  her  robe, 
with  which  I  wiped  my  tears.  "  But  if  he  kills  you?  " 
I  cried. 

She  turned  pale  and  said,  lifting  her  eyes  to  heaven  : 

11  God's  will  be  done  !  " 

"  Do  you  know  that  the  king  said  to  3'our  father, 
i  So  that  devil  of  a  Mortsauf  is  still  living  '  ?  " 

"  A  jest  on  the  lips  of  the  king,"  she  said,  "is  a 
crime  when  repeated  here." 

In  spite  of  our  precautions  the  count  had  tracked  us  ; 
he  now  arrived,  bathed  in  perspiration,  and  sat  down 
under  a  walnut-tree  where  the  countess  had  stopped  to 
give  me  that  rebuke.  I  began  to  talk  about  the  vin- 
tage ;  the  count  was  silent,  taking  no  notice  of  the 
dampness  under  the  tree.  After  a  few  insignificant 
remarks,  interspersed  with  pauses  that  were  very  sig- 
nificant, he  complained  of  nausea  and  headache  ;  but  he 
spoke  gentljr,  and  did  not  appeal  to  our  pity,  or  describe 
his  sufferings  in  his  usual  exaggerated  way.  We  paid 
no  attention  to  him.  When  we  reached  the  house,  he 
said  he  felt  worse  and  should  go  to  bed  ;  which  he  did, 
quite  naturally  and  with  much  less  complaint  than  usual. 
We  took  advantage  of  the  respite  and  went  down  to 
our  dear  terrace  accompanied  by  Madeleine. 

"  Let  us  get  the  boat  and  go  upon  the  river,"  said 
the  countess  after  we  had  made  a  few  turns.  "We 
might  go  and  look  at  the  fishing  which  is  going  on 
to-day." 

We  went  out  b}T  the  little  gate,  found  the  punt,  jumped 
into  it  and  were  presently  paddling  up  the  Loire.  Like 
three  children  amused  with  trifles,  we  looked  at  the 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  207 

sedges  along  the  banks  and  the  blue  and  green  dragon- 
flies  ;  the  countess  wondered  perhaps  that  she  was  able 
to  enjoy  such  peaceful  pleasures  in  the  midst  of  her 
poignant  griefs ;  but  Nature's  calm,  indifferent  to  our 
struggles,  has  a  magic  gift  of  consolation.  The  tumults 
of  a  love  full  of  restrained  desires  harmonize  with  the 
wash  of  the  water ;  the  flowers  that  the  hand  of  man 
has  never  wilted  are  the  voice  of  his  secret  dreams  ;  the 
voluptuous  swaying  of  the  boat  vaguely  responds  to  the 
thoughts  that  are  floating  in  his  soul.  We  felt  the  lan- 
guid influence  of  this  double  poesy.  Words,  tuned  to 
the  diapason  of  nature,  disclosed  mysterious  graces  ; 
looks  were  impassioned  rays  sharing  the  light  shed 
broadcast  by  the  sun  on  the  glowing  meadows.  The 
river  was  a  path  along  which  we  flew.  Our  spirit,  no 
longer  kept  down  by  the  measured  tread  of  our  footsteps, 
took  possession  of  the  universe.  The  abounding  joy  of 
a  child  at  liberty,  graceful  in  its  motions,  enticing  in 
its  play,  is  the  living  expression  of  two  freed  souls,  de- 
lighting themselves  by  becoming  ideally  the  wondrous 
being  dreamed  of  by  Plato  and  known  to  all  whose 
youth  has  been  filled  with  a  blessed  love.  To  describe 
to  yow  that  hour,  not  in  its  indescribable  details  but  in 
its  essence,  I  must  sa}T  to  }*ou  that  we  loved  each  other 
in  all  the  creations  animate  and  inanimate  which  sur- 
rounded us  ;  we  felt  without  us  the  happiness  our  own 
hearts  craved ;  it  so  penetrated  our  being  that  the 
countess  took  off  her  gloves  and  let  her  hands  float  in 
the  water  as  if  to  cool  an  inward  ardor.  Her  eyes 
spoke  ;  but  her  mouth,  opening  like  a  rose  to  the  breeze, 
gave  voice  to  no  desire.  You  know  the  harmony  of 
deep  tones  mingling  perfect!}*  with  high  ones?     Ever, 


L_ 


208  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

when  I  hear  it  now,  it  recalls  to  me  the  harmony  of  our 
two  souls  in  this  one  hour,  which  never  came  again. 

"  Where  do  you  fish?  "  I  asked,  "  if  you  can  only  do 
so  from  the  banks  you  own  ?  " 

"  Near  Pont-de-Ruan,"  she  replied.  "Ah!  we  now 
own  the  river  from  Pont-de-Ruan  to  Clochegonrde  ; 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  has  lately  bought  forty  acres  of 
the  meadow  lands  with  the  savings  of  two  years  and  the 
arrearage  of  his  pension.     Does  that  surprise  you  ?  " 

"Surprise  me?"  I  cried;  "I  would  that  all  the 
valley  were  yours."  She  answered  me  with  a  smile. 
Presently  we  came  below  the  bridge  to  a  place  where 
the  Indre  widens  and  where  the  fishing  was  going  on. 

"  Well,  Martineau  ?  "  she  said. 

"Ah,  Madame  la  comtesse,  such  bad  luck!  We 
have  fished  up  from  the  mill  the  last  three  hours,  and 
have  taken  nothing." 

We  landed  near  them  to  watch  the  drawing  in  of  the 
last  net,  and  all  three  of  us  sat  down  in  the  shade  of  a 
bouillard,  a  sort  of  poplar  with  a  white  bark,  which 
grows  on  the  banks  of  the  Danube  and  the  Loire  (prob- 
ably on  those  of  other  large  rivers),  and  sheds,  in  the 
spring  of  the  year,  a  white  and  silky  fluff,  the  covering 
of  its  flower.  The  countess  had  recovered  her  august 
serenity  ;  she  half  regretted  the  unveiling  of  her  griefs, 
and  mourned  that  she  had  cried  aloud  like  Job,  instead 
of  weeping  like  the  Magdalen,  —  a  Magdalen  without 
loves,  or  galas,  or  prodigalities,  but  not  without  beauty 
and  fragrance.  The  net  came  in  at  her  feet  full  of  fish  ; 
tench,  barbels,  pike,  perch,  and  an  enormous  carp,  which 
floundered  about  on  the  grass. 

"  Madame  brings  luck  !  '  exclaimed  the  keeper. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  209 

All  the  laborers  opened  their  eyes  as  they  looked 
with  admiration  at  the  woman  whose  fairy  wand  seemed 
to  have  touched  the  nets.  Just  then  the  huntsman  was 
seen  urging  his  horse  over  the  meadows  at  full  gallop. 
Fear  took  possession  of  her.  Jacques  was  not  with  us, 
and  the  mother's  first  thought,  as  Virgil  so  poetically 
says,  is  to  press  her  children  to  her  breast  when  danger 
threatens. 

"  Jacques  !  Where  is  Jacques?  What  has  happened 
to  my  boy?" 

She  did  not  love  me  !  If  she  had  loved  me  I  should 
have  seen  upon  her  face  when  confronted  with  my  suf- 
ferings that  expression  of  a  lioness  in  despair. 

"  Madame  la  comtesse,  Monsieur  le  comte  is  worse." 

She  breathed  more  freely  and  started  to  run  towards 
Clochegourde,  followed  by  me  and  by  Madeleine. 

"  Follow  me  slowly,"  she  said,  looking  back  ;  "  don't 
let  the  dear  child  overheat  herself.  You  see  how  it  is ; 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  took  that  walk  in  the  sun  which 
put  him  into  a  perspiration,  and  sitting  under  the 
walnut-tree  may  be  the  cause  of  a  great  misfortune." 

The  words,  said  in  the  midst  of  her  agitation,  showed 
plainly  the  purity  of  her  soul.  The  death  of  the  count 
a  misfortune  !  She  reached  Clochegourde  with  great 
rapidity,  passing  through  a  gap  in  the  wall  and  crossing 
the  fields.  I  returned  slowly.  Henriette's  words  lighted 
my  mind,  but  as  the  lightning  falls  and  blasts  the  gath- 
ered harvest.  On  the  river  I  had  fancied  I  was  her 
chosen  one ;  now  I  felt  bitterly  the  sincerit}'  of  her 
words.  The  lover  who  is  not  everything  is  nothing.  I 
loved  with  the  desires  of  a  love  that  knows  what  it 
seeks ;    which  feeds  in  advance  on  coming  transports, 

14 


210  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

and  is  content  with  the  pleasures  of  the  soul  because 
it  mingles  with  them  others  which  the  future  keeps  in 
store.  If  Henriette  loved,  it  was  certain  that  she  knew 
neither  the  pleasures  of  love  nor  its  tumults.  She 
lived  by  feelings  only,  like  a  saint  with  God.  T  was 
the  object  on  which  her  thoughts,  her  unavowed  sen- 
sations fastened  as  bees  swarm  upon  the  branch  of 
a  flowering  tree.  In  m}r  mad  jealousy  I  reproached 
myself  that  I  had  dared  nothing,  that  I  had  not  tight- 
ened the  bonds  of  a  tenderness  which  seemed  to  me  at 
that  moment  more  subtile  than  real,  03-  the  chains  of 

<      positive   possession. 

^-  The  count's  illness,  caused  perhaps  by  a  chill  under 
the  walnut-tree,  became  alarming  in  a  few  hours.  I 
wrent  to  Tours  for  a  famous  doctor  named  Origet,  but 
was  unable  to  find  him  until  evening.  He  spent  that 
night  and  the  next  day  at  Clochegourde.  We  had  sent 
the  huntsman  in  quest  of  leeches,  but  the  doctor,  thinking 
the  case  urgent,  wished  to  bleed  the  count  immediately, 
but  had  brought  no  lancet  with  him.  I  at  once  started 
for  Azay  in  the  midst  of  a  storm,  roused  a  surgeon, 

*  Monsieur  Deslandes,  and  compelled  him  to  come  with 
the  utmost  celerity  to  Clochegourde.  Ten  minutes 
later  and  the  count  would  have  died  ;  the  bleeding  saved 
him.  But  in  spite  of  this  preliminary  success  the  doctor 
predicted  an  inflammatory  fever  of  the  worst  kind.  The 
countess  was  overcome  by  the  fear  that  she  was  the  secret 
cause  of  this  crisis.  Too  weak  to  thank  me  for  my  ex- 
ertions, she  merely  gave  me  a  few  smiles,  the  equivalent 
of  the  kiss  she  had  once  laid  upon  in}'  hand.  Fain 
would  I  have  seen  in  those  haggard  smiles  the  remorse 
of  illicit  love  ;  but  no,  they  were  only  the  act  of  contri- 


The   Lily  of  the   Valley.  211 

tion  of  an  innocent  repentance,  painful  to  see  in  one  so 
pure,  the  expression  of  admiring  tenderness  for  me 
whom  she  regarded  as  noble  while  reproaching  herself 
for  an  imaginary  wrong.  Surely  she  loved  as  Laura 
loved  Petrarch,  and  not  as  Francesca  da  Rimini  loved 
Paolo,  —  a  terrible  discovery  for  him  who  had  dreamed 
the  union  of  the  two  loves. 

The  countess  half  lay,  her  body  bent  forwards,  her 
arms  hanging,  in  a  soiled  armchair  in  a  room  that  was 
like  the  lair  of  a  wild  boar.  The  next  evening  before 
the  doctor  departed  he  said  to  the  countess,  who  had 
sat  up  the  night  before,  that  she  must  get  a  nurse,  as 
the  illness  would  be  a  long  one. 

11  A  nurse!"  she  said;  "  no,  no!  We  will  take 
care  of  him,"  she  added,  looking  at  me  ;  "we  owe  it  to 
ourselves  to  save  him." 

The  doctor  gave  us  both  an  observing  look  full  of  as- 
tonishment. The  words  were  of  a  nature  to  make  him 
suspect  an  atonement.  He  promised  to  come  twice  a 
week,  left  directions  for  the  treatment  with  Monsieur 
Deslandes,  and  pointed  out  the  threatening  symptoms 
that  might  oblige  us  to  send  for  him.  I  asked  the 
countess  to  let  me  sit  up  the  alternate  nights  and  then, 
not  without  difficult}7,  I  persuaded  her  to  go  to  bed  on 
the  third  night.  When  the  house  was  still  and  the 
count  sleeping  I  heard  a  groan  from  Henriette's  room. 
My  anxiety  was  so  keen  that  I  went  to  her.  She  was 
kneeling  before  the  crucifix  bathed  in  tears.  "  My 
God  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  if  this  be  the  cost  of  a  murmur,  I 
will  never  complain  again." 

11  You  have  left  him  !  "  she  said  on  seeing  me. 

"  I  heard  you  moaning,  and  I  was  frightened." 


212  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

44  Oh,  I !  "  she  said  ;  "  I  am  well." 

Wishing  to  be  certain  that  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was 
asleep  she  came  down  with  me  ;  by  the  light  of  the  lamp 
we  looked  at  him.  The  count  was  weakened  by  the  loss 
of  blood  and  was  more  drows}'  than  asleep  ;  his  hands 
picked  the  counterpane  and  tried  to  draw  it  over  him. 

"  The}''  say  the  dying  do  that,"  she  whispered.  "  Ah  ! 
if  he  were  to  die  of  this  illness,  that  I  have  caused,  never 
will  I  marry  again,  I  swear  it,"  she  said,  stretching  her 
hand  over  his  head  with  a  solemn  gesture. 

44 1  have  done  all  I  could  to  save  him,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  you  !  "  she  said,  "  you  are  good  ;  it  is  I  who 
am  guilty." 

She  stooped  to  that  discolored  brow,  wiped  the  per- 
spiration from  it  and  laid  a  kiss  there  solemnly  ;  but  I 
saw,  not  without  joy,  that  she  did  it  as  an  expiation. 

44  Blanche,  I  am  thirsty,"  said  the  count  in  a  feeble 
voice. 

44  You  see  he  knows  me,"  she  said  giving  him  to  drink. 

Her  accent,  her  affectionate  manner  to  him  seemed  to 
me  to  take  the  feelings  that  bound  us  together  and 
immolate  them  to  the'  sick  man. 

44  Henriette,"  I  said,  44  go  and  rest,  I  entreat  you." 

44  No  more  Henriette,"  she  said,  interrupting  me  with 
imperious  haste. 

44  Go  to  bed  if  you  would  not  be  ill.  Your  children, 
he  himself  would  order  you  to  be  careful ;  it  is  a  case 
where  selfishness  becomes  a  virtue." 

44  Yes,"  she  said. 

She  went  away,  recommending  her  husband  to  my 
care  by  a  gesture  which  would  have  seemed  like  ap- 
proaching delirium  if  childlike  grace  had  not  been  min- 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  213 

gled  with  the  supplicating  forces  of  repentance.  But 
the  scene  was  terrible,  judged  b}r  the  habitual  state  of 
that  pure  soul ;  it  alarmed  me  ;  I  feared  the  exaltation 
of  her  conscience.  When  the  doctor  came  again,  I  re- 
vealed to  him  the  nature  of  my  pure  Henriette's  self- 
reproach.  This  confidence,  made  discreetly,  removed 
Monsieur  Origet's  suspicions,  and  enabled  him  to  quiet 
the  distress  of  that  noble  soul  by  telling  her  that  in  an}' 
case  the  count  had  to  pass  through  this  crisis,  and  that 
as  for  the  nut-tree,  his  remaining  there  had  done  more 
good  than  harm  by  developing  the  disease. 

For  fifty- two  days  the  count  hovered  between  life  and 
death.  Ilenrietteand  I  each  watched  twenty-six  nights. 
Undoubtedly,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  owed  his  life  to  our 
nursing  and  to  the  careful  exactitude  with  which  we 
carried  out  the  orders  of  Monsieur  Origet.  Like  all 
philosophical  physicians,  whose  sagacious  observation 
of  what  passes  before  them  justifies  man}'  a  doubt  of 
noble  actions  when  they  are  only  the  accomplishment 
of  a  duty,  this  man,  while  assisting  the  countess  and 
me  in  our  rivalry  of  devotion,  could  not  help  watching 
us,  with  scrutinizing  glances,  so  afraid  was  he  of  being 
deceived  in  his  admiration. 

'*  In  diseases  of  this  nature,"  he  said  to  me  at  his 
third  visit,  "  death  has  a  powerful  auxiliary  in  the 
moral  nature  when  that  is  seriously  disturbed,  as  it  is  in 
this  case.  The  doctor,  the  family,  the  nurses  hold  the 
patient's  life  in  their  hands ;  sometimes  a  single  word, 
a  fear  expressed  b}'  a  gesture,  has  the  effect  of  poison." 

As  he  spoke  Origet  studied  m}'  face  and  expression  ; 
but  he  saw  in  my  eyes  the  clear  look  of  an  honest  soul. 
In  fact  during  the  whole  course  of  this  distressing  ill- 


214  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

ness  there  never  passed  through  my  mind  a  single  one 
of  the  involuntary  evil  thoughts  which  do  sometimes 
sear  the  consciences  of  the  innocent.  To  those  who 
study  nature  in  its  grandeur  as  a  whole  all  tends  to 
unity  through  assimilation.  The  moral  world  must  un- 
doubtedly be  ruled  by  an  analogous  principle.  In  a 
pure  sphere  all  is  pure.  The  atmosphere  of  heaven 
was  around  my  Henriette ;  it  seemed  as  though  an 
evil  desire  must  forever  part  me  from  her.  Thus  she 
not  only  stood  for  happiness,  but  for  virtue ;  she  was 
I  virtue.  Finding  us  always  equally  careful  and  atten- 
tive, the  doctor's  words  and  manners  took  a  tone  of 
respect  and  even  pit}^ ;  he  seemed  to  say  to  himself, 
"Here  are  the  real  sufferers;  they  hide  their  ills,  and 
forget  them."  By  a  fortunate  change,  which,  accord- 
ing to  our  excellent  doctor,  is  common  enough  in  men 
who  are  completely  shattered,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
was  patient,  obedient,  complained  little,  and  showed 
surprising  docilit}*,  —  he,  who  when  well  never  did  the 
simplest  thing  without  discussion.  The  secret  of  this 
submission  to  medical  care,  which  he  formerly  so  de- 
rided, was  an  innate  dread  of  death ;  another  contra- 
diction in  a  man  of  tried  courage.  This  dread  may 
perhaps  explain  several  other  peculiarities  in  the  char- 
acter which  the  cruel  3'ears  of  exile  had  developed. 
Shall  I  admit  to  you,  Natalie,  and  will  you  believe 

me?  these  fifty  days  and  the  month  that  followed  them 

1  were  the  happiest  moments  of  m}-  life.  Love,  in  the 
celestial  spaces  of  the  soul  is  like  a  noble  river  flowing 
through  a  valley ;  the  rains,  the  brooks,  the  torrents 
hie  to  it,  the  trees  fall  upon  its  surface,  so  do  the 
flowers,  the  gravel  of  its  shores,  the  rocks  of  the  sum- 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  215 

mits ;  storms  and  the  loitering  tribute  of  the  crystal 
streams  alike  increase  it.  Yes,  when  love  comes  all 
comes  to  love ! 

The  first  great  danger  over,  the  countess  and  I  grew 
accustomed  to  illness.  In  spite  of  the  confusion  which 
the  care  of  the  sick  entails,  the  count's  room,  once  so 
untidy,  was  now  clean  and  inviting.  Soon  we  were  like 
two  beings  flung  upon  a  desert  island,  for  .not  only  do 
anxieties  isolate,  but  they  brush  aside  as  pett}^  the  con- 
ventions of  the  world.  The  welfare  of  the  sick  man 
obliged  us  to  have  points  of  contact  which  no  other  cir- 
cumstances would  have  authorized.  Many  a  time  our 
hands,  shy  or  timid  formerly,  met  in  some  service  that 
we  rendered  to  the  count  —  was  I  not  there  to  sustain 
and  help  myHenriette?  Absorbed  in  a  duty  compar- 
able to  that  of  a  soldier  at  the  pickets,  she  forgot  to 
eat ;  then  I  served  her,  sometimes  on  her  lap,  a  hasty 
meal  which  necessitated  a  thousand  little  attentions. 
We  were  like  children  at  a  grave.  She  would  order  me 
sharply  to  prepare  whatever  might  case  the  sick  man's 
suffering ;  she  employed  me  in  a  hundred  pettv  ways. 
During  the  time  when  actual  danger  obscured,  as  it  does 
during  a  battle,  the  subtile  distinctions  which  charac- 
terize the  facts  of  ordinary  life,  she  necessarily  laid  aside 
the  reserve  which  all  women,  even  the  most  unconven- 
tional, preserve  in  their  looks  and  words  and  actions 
before  the  world  or  their  own  family.  At  the  first  chirp- 
ing of  the  birds  she  would  come  to  relieve  nry  watch, 
wearing  a  morning  garment  which  revealed  to  me  once 
more  the  dazzling  treasures  that  in  my  folly  I  had  treated 
as  my  own.  Always  dignilied,  nay  imposing,  she  could 
still  be  familiar. 


216  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  we  found  ourselves  uncon- 
sciously intimate,  half-married  as  it  were.  She  showed 
herself  nobly  confiding,  as  sure  of  me  as  she  was  of  her- 
self. I  was  thus  taken  deeper  and  deeper  into  her  heart. 
The  countess  became  once  more  nvy  Henriette,  Henri- 
ette  constrained  to  love  with  increasing  strength  the 
friend  who  endeavored  to  be  her  second  soul.  Her  hand 
unresistingly  met  mine  at  the  least  solicitation  ;  m}-  eyes 
were  permitted  to  follow  with  delight  the  lines  of  her 
beaut}r  during  the  long  hours  when  we  listened  to  the 
count's  breathing,  without  driving  her  from  their  sight. 
The  meagre  pleasures  which  we  allowed  ourselves  — 
sympathizing  looks,  words  spoken  in  whispers  not  to 
wake  the  count,  hopes  and  fears  repeated  and  again  re- 
peated, in  short,  the  thousand  incidents  of  the  fusion  of 
two  hearts  long  separated  —  stand  out  in  bright  arra}' 
upon  the  sombre  background  of  the  actual  scene.  Our 
souls  knew  each  other  to  their  depths  under  this  test, 
which  many  a  warm  affection  is  unable  to  bear,  finding 
life  too  heavy  or  too  Aims}'  in  the  close  bonds  of  hourly 
intercourse. 

You  know  what  disturbance  follows  the  illness  of  a 
master ;  how  the  affairs  of  life  seem  to  come  to  a  stand- 
still .  Though  the  real  care  of  the  family  and  estate  fell 
upon  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  the  count  was  useful  in  his 
wa3' ;  he  talked  with  the  farmers,  transacted  business 
with  his  bailiff,  and  received  the  rents ;  if  she  was  the 
soul,  he  was  the  body.  I  now  made  myself  her  steward 
so  that  she  could  nurse  the  count  without  neglecting  the 
property.  She  accepted  this  as  a  matter  of  course,  in 
fact  without  thanking  me.  It  was  another  sweet  com- 
munion to  share  her  family  cares,  to  transmit  her  or- 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  217 

ders.  In  the  evenings  we  often  met  in  her  room  to 
discuss  these  interests  and  those  of  her  children.  Such 
conversations  gave  one  semblance  the  more  to  our 
transitory  marriage.  With  what  delight  she  encour- 
aged me  to  take  a  husband's  place,  giving  me  his 
seat  at  table,  sending  me  to  talk  with  the  bailiff,  —  all 
in  perfect  innocence,  jTet  not  without  that  inward  pleas- 
ure the  most  virtuous  woman  in  the  world  will  feel  when 
she  finds  a  course  where  strict  obedience  to  duty  and 
the  satisfaction  of  her  wishes  are  combined. 

Nullified,  as  it  were,  by  illness,  the  count  no  longer 
oppressed  his  wife  or  his  household,  the  countess  then 
became  her  natural  self;  she  busied  herself  with  my 
affairs  and  showed  me  a  thousand  kindnesses.  With 
what  joy  I  discovered  in  her  mind  a  thought,  vaguely 
conceived  perhaps,  but  exquisitely  expressed,  namely, 
to  show  me  the  full  value  of  her  person  and  her  quali- 
ties and  make  me  see  the  change  that  would  come  over 
her  if  she  lived  understood.  This  flower,  kept  in  the 
cold  atmosphere  of  such  a  home,  opened  to  my  gaze, 
and  to  mine  only ;  she  took  as  much  delight  in  letting 
me  comprehend  her  as  I  felt  in  studying  her  with  the 
searching  e}'es  of  love.  She  proved  to  me  in  all  the 
trifling  things  of  daily  life  how  much  I  was  in  her 
thoughts.  When,  after  my  turn  of  watching,  I  went 
to  bed  and  slept  late,  Henrietta  would  keep  the  house 
absolutely  silent  near  me ;  Jacques  and  Madeleine 
played  elsewhere,  though  never  ordered  to  do  so ;  she 
invented  excuses  to  serve  my  breakfast  herself — ah, 
with  what  sparkling  pleasure  in  her  movements,  what 
swallow-like  rapidity,  what  lynx-eyed  perception  !  and 
then  !  what  carnation  on  her  cheeks,  what  quiverings 
in  her  voice ! 


218  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

Can  such  expansions  of  the  soul  be  described  in 
words  ? 

Often  she  was  wearied  out ;  but  if,  at  such  moments 
of  lassitude  my  welfare  came  in  question,  for  me,  as  for 
her  children,  she  found  fresh  strength  and  sprang  up 
eagerly  and  joyfully.  How  she  loved  to  shed  her  ten- 
derness like  sunbeams  in  the  air  !  Ah,  Natalie,  some 
women  share  the  privileges  of  angels  here  below  ;  they 
diffuse  that  light  which  Saint-Martin,  the  mysterious 
philosopher,  declared  to  be  intelligent,  melodious,  and 
perfumed.  Sure  of  nvy  discretion,  Henriette  took 
pleasure  in  raising  the  curtain  which  hid  the  future 
and  in  showing  me  two  women  in  her,  —  the  woman 
bound  hand  and  foot  who  had  won  me  in  spite  of 
her  severity,  and  the  woman  freed,  whose  sweetness 
should  make  my  love  eternal !  What  a  difference.  Ma- 
dame de  Mortsauf'was  the  skylark  of  Bengal,  trans- 
ported to  our  cold  Europe,  mournful  on  its  perch,  silent 
and  dying  in  the  cage  of  a  naturalist ;  Henriette  was 
the  singing  bird  of  oriental  poems  in  groves  beside  the 
Ganges,  flying  from  branch  to  branch  like  a  living  jewel 
amid  the  roses  of  a  volkameria  that  ever  blooms.  Her 
beauty  grew  more  beautiful,  her  mind  recovered  strength. 
The  continual  sparkle  of  this  happiness  was  a  secret  be- 
tween ourselves,  for  she  dreaded  the  e3'e  of  the  Abbe 
Dominis,  the  representative  of  the  world ;  she  masked 
her  contentment  with  pla}Tfulness,  and  covered  the  proofs 
of  her  tenderness  with  the  banner  of  gratitude. 

"  We  have  put  }Tour  friendship  to  a  severe  test,  Felix  ; 
we  may  give  you  the  same  rights  we  give  to  Jacques, 
may  we  not,  Monsieur  l'abbe?  "  she  said  one  da}\ 

The  stern  abbe  answered  with  the  smile  of  a  man  who 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  219 

can  read  the  human  heart  and  see  its  purity ;  for  the 
countess  he  always  showed  the  respect  mingled  with 
adoration  which  the  angels  inspire.  Twice  during  those 
fifty  days  the  countess  passed  beyond  the  limits  in  which 
we  held  our  affection.  But  even  these  infringements 
were  shrouded  in  a  veil,  never  lifted  until  the  final  hour 
when  avowal  came.  One  morning,  during  the  first  days 
of  the  count's  illness,  when  she  repented  her  harsh  treat- 
ment in  withdrawing  the  innocent  privileges  she  had 
formerly  granted  me,  I  was  expecting  her  to  relieve  my 
watch.  Much  fatigued,  I  fell  asleep,  my  head  against 
the  wall.  I  wakened  suddenly  at  the  touch  of  some- 
thing cool  upon  my  forehead  which  gave  me  a  sensa- 
tion as  if  a  rose  had  rested  there.  I  opened  my  eyes 
and  saw  the  countess,  standing  a  few  steps  distant,  who 
said,  "I  have  just  come.''  I  rose  to  leave  the  room, 
but  as  I  bade  her  good-by  I  took  her  hand ;  it  was 
moist  and  trembling. 

"  Are  you  ill?"  I  said. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that  question?  "  she  replied. 

I  looked  at  her  blushing  and  confused.  "I  was 
dreaming,"  I  replied. 

Another  time,  when  Monsieur  Origet  had  announced 
positively  that  the  count  was  convalescent,  I  was 
lying  with  Jacques  and  Madeleine  on  the  step  of  the 
portico  intent  on  a  game  of  spillikins  which  we  were 
playing  with  bits  of  straw  and  hooks  made  of  pins ; 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  asleep.  The  doctor,  while 
waiting  for  his  horse  to  be  harnessed,  was  talking  with 
the  countess  in  the  salon.  Monsieur  Origet  went  away 
without  my  noticing  his  departure.  After  he  left,  Hen- 
riette    leaned    against   the    window,   from   which   she 


220  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

watched  us  for  some  time  without  our  seeing  her.  It 
was  one  of  those  warm  evenings  when  the  sky  is  cop- 
per-colored and  the  earth  sends  up  among  the  echoes  a 
myriad  mingling  noises.  A  last  ray  of  sunlight  was 
leaving  the  roofs,  the  flowers  in  the  garden  perfumed 
the  air,  the  bells  of  the  cattle  returning  to  their  stalls 
sounded  in  the  distance.  We  were  all  conforming  to 
the  silence  of  the  evening  hour  and  hushing  our  voices 
that  we  might  not  wake  the  count.  Suddenly,  I  heard 
the  guttural  sound  of  a  sob  violently  suppressed  ;  I 
rushed  into  the  salon  and  found  the  countess  sitting  by 
the  window  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  face.  She 
heard  my  step  and  made  me  an  imperious  gesture,  com- 
manding me  to  leave  her.  I  went  up  to  her,  m}T  heart 
stabbed  with  fear,  and  tried  to  take  her  handkerchief 
away  by  force.  Her  face  was  bathed  in  tears  and  she 
fled  into  her  room,  which  she  did  not  leave  again  until 
the  hour  for  evening  prayer.  When  that  was  over,  I 
led  her  to  the  terrace  and  asked  the  cause  of  her  emo- 
tion ;  she  affected  a  wild  gayety  and  explained  it  by  the 
news  Monsieur  Origet  had  given  her. 

"  Henriette,  Henriette,  you  knew  that  news  when  I 
saw  you  weeping.  Between  yoxx  and  me  a  lie  is  mon- 
strous. Why  did  you  forbid  me  to  dry  your  tears? 
were  they  mine  !  " 

'*  I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  "  that  for  me  this  illness 
had  been  a  halt  in  pain.  Now  that  I  no  longer  fear  for 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  I  fear  for  myself." 

She  was  right.  The  count's  recovery  was  soon  at- 
tested by  the  return  of  his  fantastic  humor.  He  began 
by  saying  that  neither  the  countess,  nor  I,  nor  the  doc- 
tor had  known  how  to  take  care  of  him  ;  we  were  igno- 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  221 

rant  of  his  constitution  and  also  of  his  disease  ;  we  mis- 
understood his  sufferings  and  the  necessary  remedies. 
Origet,  infatuated  with  his  own  doctrines,  had  mistaken 
the  case,  he  ought  to  have  attended  only  to  the  pylorus. 
One  day  he  looked  at  us  maliciously,  with  an  air  of  hav- 
ing guessed  our  thoughts,  and  said  to  his  wife  with  a 
smile,  "  Now,  my  dear,  if  I  had  died  you  would  have 
regretted  me,  no  doubt,  but  pray  admit  you  would  have 
been  quite  resigned." 

"  Yes,  I  should  have  mourned  you  in  pink  and  black, 
court  mourning,"  she  answered  laughing,  to  change  the 
tone  of  his  remarks. 

But  it  was  chiefly  about  his  food,  which  the  doctor 
insisted  on  regulating,  that  scenes  of  violence  and  wrang- 
ling now  took  place,  unlike  any  that  had  hitherto  oc- 
curred ;  for  the  character  of  the  count  was  all  the  more 
violent  for  having  slumbered.  The  countess,  fortified 
by  the  doctor's  orders  and  the  obedience  of  her  servants, 
stimulated  too  by  me,  who  thought  this  struggle  a  good 
means  to  teach  her  to  exercise  authority  over  the  count, 
held  out  against  his  violence.  She  showed  a  calm  front 
to  his  demented  cries,  and  even  grew  accustomed  to  his 
insulting  epithets,  taking  him  for  what  he  was,  a  child. 
I  had  the  happiness  of  at  last  seeing  her  take  the  reins 
in  hand  and  govern  that  unsound  mind.  The  count 
cried  out,  but  he  obe3'ed ;  and  he  obe}'ed  all  the  better 
when  he  had  made  an  outery.  But  in  spite  of  the  evi- 
dence of  good  results,  Henriette  often  wept  at  the  spec- 
tacle of  this  emaciated,  feeble  old  man,  with  a  forehead 
3'ellower  than  the  falling  leaves,  his  e^yes  wan,  his  hands 
trembling.  She  blamed  herself  for  too  much  severit}', 
and  could  not  resist  the  joy  she  saw  in  his  eyes  when, 


222  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

in  measuring  out  his  food,  she  gave  him  more  than  the 
doctor  allowed.  She  was  even  more  gentle  and  gracious 
to  him  than  she  had  been  to  me  ;  but  there  were  differ- 
ences here  which  filled  my  heart  with  jo}\  She  was  not 
unwearying,  and  she  sometimes  called  her  servants  to 
wait  upon  the  count  when  his  caprices  changed  too 
rapidly,  and  he  complained  of  not  being  understood. 

The  countess  wished  to  return  thanks  to  God  for  the 
count's  recovery ;  she  directed  a  mass  to  be  said,  and 
asked  if  I  would  take  her  to  church.  I  did  so,  but  I 
left  her  at  the  door,  and  went  to  see  Monsieur  and  Ma- 
dame Chessel.     On  my  return  she  reproached  me. 

"Henriette,"  I  said,  "I  cannot  be  false.  I  will 
throw  myself  into  the  water  to  save  my  enemy  from 
drowning,  and  give  him  my  coat  to  keep  him  warm  ;  I 
will  forgive  him,  but  I  cannot  forget  the  wrong." 

She  was  silent,  but  she  pressed  m}-  arm. 

u  You  are  an  angel,  and  30U  were  sincere  in  your 
thanksgiving,"  I  said,  continuing.  "  The  mother  of  the 
Prince  of  the  Peace  was  saved  from  the  hands  of  an 
angry  populace  who  sought  to  kill  her,  and  when  the 
queen  asked,  '  What  did  you  do  ? '  she  answered,  '  I 
prayed  for  them.'  Women  are  ever  thus.  I  am  a  man, 
and  necessarily  imperfect." 

"  Don't  calumniate  yourself,"  she  said,  shaking  my 
arm,  "  perhaps  3'ou  are  more  worth}T  than  I." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "for  I  would  give  eternitj'for  a 
clay  of  happiness,  and  3-ou  —  " 

"I!"  she  said  haughtily. 

I  was  silent  and  lowered  my  eyes  to  escape  the  light- 
ning of  hers. 

"  There  is  many  an  I  in  me,"  she  said.    "  Of  which  do 


TJie  Lily  of  the   Valley.  223 

you  speak?  Those  children,"  pointing  to  Jacques  and 
Madeleine,  "  are  one  —  Felix,"  she  cried  in  a  heartrend- 
ing voice,  "  do  you  think  me  selfish?  Ought  I  to  sac- 
rifice eternity  to  reward  him  who  devotes  to  me  his  life  ? 
The  thought  is  dreadful ;  it  wounds  every  sentiment  of 
religion.  Could  a  woman  so  fallen  rise  again?  Would* 
her  happiness  absolve  her?  These  are  questions  you 
force  me  to  consider.  — Yes,  I  betray  at  last  the  secret 
of  my  conscience  ;  the  thought  has  traversed  my  heart ; 
often  do  I  expiate  it  by  penance  ;  it  caused  the  tears  3*011 
asked  me  to  account  for  3'esterday —  " 

"  Do  you  not  give  too  great  importance  to  certain 
things  which  common  women  hold  at  a  high  price, 
and  —  " 

"Oh!"  she  said,  interrupting  me;  "  do  you  hold 
them  at  a  lower  ?  " 

This  logic  stopped  all  argument. 

"Know  this,"  she  continued.  "I  might  have  the 
baseness  to  abandon  that  poor  old  man  whose  life  I 
am  ;  but,  my  friend,  those  other  feeble  creatures  there 
before  us,  Madeleine  and  Jacques,  would  remain  with 
their  father.  Do  you  think,  I  ask  you  do  you  think 
they  would  be  alive  in  three  months  under  the  insane 
dominion  of  that  man  ?  If  my  failure  of  duty  concerned 
onty  myself — "  A  noble  smile  crossed  her  face.  "  But 
shall  I  kill  my  children  !  M3*  Ged  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Why  speak  of  these  things  ?    Marry,  and  let  me  die  !  " 

She  said  the  words  in  a  tone  so  bitter,  so  hollow,  that 
ihey  stifled  the  remonstrances  of  my  passion. 

"  You  uttered  cries  that  da3*  beneath  the  walnut-tree  ; 
I  have  uttered  my  cries  here  beneath  these  alders,  that 
is  all,"  I  said  ;  "  I  will  be  silent  henceforth." 


224  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

"  Your  generosity  shames  me,"  she  said,  raising  her 
eyes  to  heaven. 

"We  reached  the  terrace  and  found  the  count  sitting  in 
a  chair,  in  the  sun.  The  sight  of  that  sunken  face, 
scarcely  brightened  by  a  feeble  smile,  extinguished  the 
last  flames  that  came  from  the  ashes.  I  leaned  against 
the  balustrade  and  considered  the  picture  of  that  poor 
wreck,  between  his  sickly  children  and  his  wife,  pale 
with  her  vigils,  worn  out  by  extreme  fatigue,  b}-  the  fears, 
perhaps  also  by  the  jo}'s  of  these  terrible  months,  but 
whose  cheeks  now  glowed  from  the  emotions  she  had  just 
passed  through.  At  the  sight  of  that  suffering  family 
beneath  the  trembling  leafage  through  which  the  gray 
light  of  a  cloudy  autumn  sky  came  dimly,  I  felt  within 
me  a  rupture  of  the  bonds  which  hold  the  body  to  the 
spirit.  There  came  upon  me  then  that  moral  spleen 
which,  they  say,  the  strongest  wrestlers  know  in  the 
crisis  of  their  combats,  a  species  of  cold  madness  which 
makes  a  coward  of  the  bravest  man,  a  bigot  of  an  un- 
believer, and  renders  those  it  grasps  indifferent  to  all 
things,  even  to  vital  sentiments,  to  honor,  to  love  — 
for  the  doubt  it  brings  takes  from  us  the  knowledge  of 
ourselves  and  disgusts  us  with  life  itself.  Poor,  ner- 
vous creatures,  whom  the  very  richness  of  your  organi- 
zation delivers  over  to  this  mysterious,  fatal  power,  who 
are  your  peers  and  who  your  judges  ?  Horrified  by  the 
thoughts  that  rose  within  me,  and  demanding,  like  the 
wicked  man,  "  Where  is  now  thy  God?"  I  could  not 
restrain  the  tears  that  rolled  down  my  cheeks. 

"What  is  it,  dear  Felix?"    said  Madeleine  in  her 
childish  voice. 

Then  Ilenriette  put  to  flight  these  dark  horrors  of  the 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  225 

mind  hy  a  look  of  tender  solicitude  which  shone  into 
my  soul  like  a  sunbeam.  Just  then  the  old  huntsman 
brought  me  a  letter  from  Tours,  at  sight  of  which  I 
gave  a  sudden  cry  of  surprise,  which  made  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  tremble.  I  saw  the  king's  signet  and  knew  it 
contained  my  recall.  I  gave  her  the  letter  and  she  read 
it  at  a  glance. 

"  What  will  become  of  me  ?  "  she  murmured,  beholding 
her  desert  sunless. 

We  fell  into  a  stupor  of  thought  which  oppressed 
us  equally  ;  never  had  we  felt  more  strongly  how  neces- 
saiy  we  were  to  one  another.  The  countess,  even  when 
she  spoke  indifferently  of  other  things,  seemed  to  have 
a  new  voice,  as  if  the  instrument  had  lost  some  chords 
and  others  were  out  of  tune.  Her  movements  were 
apathetic,  her  eyes  without  light.  I  begged  her  to  tell 
me  her  thoughts. 

"  Have  I  any?  "  she  replied  in  a  dazed  way. 

She  drew  me  into  her  chamber,  made  me  sit  upon 
the  sofa,  took  a  package  from  the  drawer  of  her  dress- 
ing-table, and  knelt  before  me,  saying :  "  This  hair  has 
fallen  from  my  head  during  the  last  year ;  take  it,  it  is 
3Tours  ;  you  will  some  day  know  how  and  why." 

Slowly  I  bent  to  meet  her  brow,  and  she  did  not  avoid 
my  lips.  I  kissed  her  sacredly,  without  unworthy 
passion,  without  one  impure  impulse,  but  solemnly, 
with  tenderness.  Was  she  willing  to  make  the  sacrifice  ; 
or  did  she  merely  come,  as  I  did  once,  to  the  verge  of 
the  precipice?  If  love  were  leading  her  to  give  herself 
could  she  have  worn  that  calm,  that  holy  look ;  would 
she  have  asked,  in  that  pure  voice  of  hers,  "You  are 
not  angry  with  me,  are  3-011  ?  " 

15 


226  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

I  left  that  evening ;  she  wished  to  accompany  me  on 
the  road  to  Frapesle  ;  and  we  stopped  under  my  walnut- 
tree.  I  showed  it  to  her,  and  told  her  how  I  had  first 
seen  her  four  years  earlier  from  that  spot.  "  The  valley 
was  so  beautiful  then  !  "  I  cried. 

"  And  now?"  she  said  quickly. 

"  You  are  beneath  my  tree,  and  the  valley  is  ours  !  " 

She  bowed  her  head  and  that  was  our  farewell ;  she 
got  into  her  carriage  with  Madeleine,  and  I  into  mine 
alone. 

On  my  return  to  Paris  I  was  absorbed  in  pressing 
business  which  took  all  my  time  and  kept  me  out  of 
society,  which  for  a  while  forgot  me.  I  corresponded 
with  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  and  sent  her  my  journal 
once  a  week.  She  answered  twice  a  month.  It  was  a 
life  of  solitude  yet  teeming,  like  those  sequestered  spots, 
blooming  unknown,  which  I  had  sometimes  found  in 
the  depths  of  woods  when  gathering  the  flowers  for  my 
poems. 

Oh,  you  who  love !  take  these  obligations  on  you ; 
accept  these  daily  duties,  like  those  the  Church  im- 
poses upon  Christians.  The  rigorous  observances  of 
the  Roman  faith  contain  a  great  idea  ;  they  plough  the 
furrow  of  duty  in  the  soul  by  the  daity  repetition  of  acts 
which  keep  alive  the  sense  of  hope  and  fear.  Sentiments 
flow  clearer  in  furrowed  channels  which  purify  their 
stream  ;  they  refresh  the  heart,  they  fertilize  the  life  from 
the  abundant  treasures  of  a  hidden  faith,  the  source 
divine  in  which  the  single  thought  of  a  single  love  is 
multiplied  indefinitely. 

My  love,  an  echo  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  of  chivahy, 
was  known,  I  know  not  how ;  possibty  the  king  and  the 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  227 

Due  cle  Lenoncourt  had  spoken  of  it.  From  that  upper 
sphere  the  romantic  yet  simple  story  of  a  young  man 
piously  adoring  a  beautiful  woman  remote  from  the 
world,  noble  in  her  solitude,  faithful  without  support  to 
duty,  spread,  no  doubt  quickly,  through  the  faubourg 
St.  Germain.  In  the  salons  I  was  the  object  of  em- 
barrassing notice  ;  for  retired  life  has  advantages  which 
if  once  experienced  make  the  burden  of  a  constant 
social  intercourse  insupportable.  Certain  minds  are 
painfully  affected  by  violent  contrasts,  just  as  eyes 
accustomed  to  soft  colors  are  hurt  b}T  glaring  light. 
This  was  my  condition  then  ;  3-ou  may  be  surprised  at 
it  now,  but  have  patience  ;  the  inconsistencies  of  the 
Vandenesse  of  to-day  will  be  explained  to  you. 

I  found  society  courteous  and  women  most  kind. 
After  the  marriage  of  the  Due  de  Berry  the  court  re- 
sumed its  former  splendor  and  the  gloiy  of  French 
fetes  revived.  The  Allied  occupation  was  over,  pros- 
perity reappeared,  enjoyments  were  again  possible. 
Noted  personages,  illustrious  b}7  rank,  prominent  by 
fortune,  came  from  all  parts  of  Europe  to  the  capital  of 
the  intellect,  where  the  merits  and  the  vices  of  other 
countries  were  found  magnified  and  whetted  by  the 
charms  of  French  intellect.  ^/ 

Five  months  after  leaving  Clochegourde  my  good  » 
angel  wrote  me,  in  the  middle  of  the  winter,  a  despairing 
letter,  telling  me  of  the  serious  illness  of  her  son.  He 
was  then  out  of  danger,  but  there  were  many  fears  for 
the  future ;  the  doctor  said  that  precautions  were  neces- 
sary for  his  lungs  —  the  suggestion  of  a  terrible  idea 
which  had  put  the  mother's  heart  in  mourning.  Hardly 
had  Jacques  begun  to  convalesce,  and  she  could  breathe 


228  '     The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

again,  when  Madeleine  made  them  all  uneasy.  That 
pretty  plant,  whose  bloom  had  lately  rewarded  the 
mother's  culture,  was  now  frail  and  pallid  and  anemic. 
The  countess,  worn-out  by  Jacques'  long  illness,  found 
no  courage,  she  said,  to  bear  this  additional  blow,  and 
the  ever  present  spectacle  of  these  two  dear  failing 
creatures  made  her  insensible  to  the  redoubled  torment 
of  her  husband's  temper.  Thus  the  storms  were  again 
raging ;  tearing  up  by  the  roots  the  hopes  that  were 
planted  deepest  in  her  bosom.  She  was  now  at  the 
mercy  of  the  count ;  weary  of  the  struggle,  she  allowed 
him  to  regain  all  the  ground  he  had  lost. 

"  When  all  my  strength  is  employed  in  caring  for 
my  children,"  she  wrote,  "how  is  it  possible  to  employ 
it  against  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf;  how  can  I  struggle 
against  his  aggressions  when  I  am  fighting  against 
death?  Standing  here  to-day,  alone  and  much  en- 
feebled, between  these  two  }'Oung  images  of  mournful 
fate,  I  am  overpowered  with  disgust,  invincible  disgust 
for  life.  What  blow  can  I  feel,  to  what  affection  can  I 
answer,  when  I  see  Jacques  motionless  on  the  terrace, 
scarcely  a  sign  of  life  about  him,  except  in  those  dear 
eyes,  large  by  emaciation,  hollow  as  those  of  an  old  man 
and,  oh,  fatal  sign,  full  of  precocious  intelligence  con- 
trasting with  his  physical  debility.  When  I  look  at  my 
pretty  Madeleine,  once  so  gay,  so  caressing,  so  blooming, 
now  white  as  death,  her  very  hair  and  eyes  seem  to  me 
to  have  paled  ;  she  turns  a  languishing  look  upon  me  as  if 
bidding  me  farewell ;  nothing  rouses  her,  nothing  tempts 
her.  In  spite  of  all  my  efforts  I  cannot  amuse  my 
children ;  they  smile  at  me,  but  their  smile  is  only  in 
answer    to   my   endearments,  it  does  not  come   from 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  229 

them.  They  weep  because  they  have  no  strength  to 
play  with  me.  Suffering  has  enfeebled  their  whole 
being,  it  has  loosened  even  the  ties  that  bound  them 
to  me. 

"  Thus  you  can  well  believe  that  Clochegourde  is  very 
sad.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  now  rules  everything  — 
Oh  my  friend !  }tou,  my  glory  !  "  she  wrote,  farther  on, 
"  you  must  indeed  love  me  well  to  love  me  still ;  to  love 
me  callous,  ungrateful,  turned  to  stone  by  grief." 


III. 


THE    TWO    WOMEN. 

It  was  at  this  time,  when  I  was  never  more  deepty 
moved  in  my  whole  being,  when  I  lived  in  that  soul  to 
which  I  strove  to  send  the  luminous  breeze  of  the 
mornings  and  the  hope  of  the  crimsoned  evenings,  that 
I  met,  in  the  salons  of  the  Elysee-Bourbon,  one  of  those 
illustrious  ladies  who  reign  as  sovereigns  in  society. 
Immensely  rich,  born  of  a  family  whose  blood  was  pure 
from  all  misalliance  since  the  Conquest,  married  to  one 
of  the  most  distinguished  old  men  of  the  British  peerage, 
it  was  nevertheless  evident  that  these  advantages  were 
mere  accessories  heightening  this  lady's  beaut}',  graces, 
manners,  and  wit,  all  of  which  had  a  brilliant  qualit}* 
which  dazzled  before  it  charmed.  She  was  the  idol  of 
the  day  ;  reigning  the  more  securely  over  Parisian  so- 
ciety because  she  possessed  the  quality  most  necessary 
to  success,  —  the  hand  of  iron  in  the  velvet  glove  spoken 
of  by  Bernadotte. 


r 


L 


230  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

You  know  the  singular  characteristics  of  English 
people,  the  distance  and  coldness  of  their  own  Chan- 
nel which  the}r  put  between  them  and  whoever  has  not 
been  presented  to  them  in  a  proper  manner.  Humanity 
seems  to  be  an  ant-hill  on  which  they  tread  ;  the}'  know 
none  of  their  species  except  the  few  the}'  admit  into 
their  circle  ;  they  ignore  even  the  language  of  the  rest ; 
tongues  may  move  and  eyes  may  see  in  their  presence 
but  neither  sound  nor  look  has  reached  them  ;  to  them, 
the  people  are  as  if  they  were  not.  The  British  pre- 
sent an  image  of  their  own  island,  where  law  rules 
everything,  where  all  is  automatic  in  every  station  of 
life,  where  the  exercise  of  virtue  appears  to  be  the 
necessary  working  of  a  machine  which  goes  b}T  clock- 
work. Fortifications  of  polished  steel  rise  around  the 
Englishwoman  behind  the  golden  wires  of  her  house- 
hold cage  (where  the  feed-box  and  the  drinking-cup, 
the  perches  and  the  food  are  exquisite  in  quality),  but 
they  make  her  irresistibly  attractive.  No  people  ever 
trained  married  women  so  carefully  to  hypocrisy  by 
holding  them  rigidly  between  the  two  extremes  of  death 
or  social  station ;  for  them  there  is  no  middle  path 
between  shame  and  honor ;  either  the  wrong  is  com- 
pleted or  it  does  not  exist ;  it  is  all  or  nothing,  — 
Hamlet's  "To  be  or  not  to  be."  This  alternative, 
coupled  with  the  scorn  to  which  the  customs  of  her 
country  have  trained  her,  make  an  Englishwoman  a 
being  apart  in  the  world.  She  is  a  helpless  creature, 
forced  to  be  virtuous  }'et  ready  to  yield,  condemned  to 
live  a  lie  in  her  heart,  yet  delightful  in  outward  appear- 
ance—  for  these  English  rest  everything  on  appear- 
ances.    Hence  the  special  charms  of  their  women  :  the 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  231 

enthusiasm  for  a  love  which  is  all  their  life ;  the  mi- 
nuteness of  their  care  for  their  persons  ;  the  delicacy  of 
their  passion,  so  charmingly  rendered  in  the  famous 
scene  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  in  which,  with  one  stroke, 
Shakspeare's  genius  depicted  his  country-women. 

You,  who  envy  them  so  man}'  things,  what  can  I  tell 
you  that  you  do  not  know  of  these  white  sirens,  im- 
penetrable apparently  but  easily  fathomed,  who  be- 
lieve that  love  suffices  love,  and  turn  enjoyments  to 
satiety  by  never  varying  them  ;  whose  soul  has  one 
note  only,  their  voice  one  syllable  —  an  ocean  of  love  in 
themselves,  it  is  true,  and  he  who  has  never  swum 
there  misses  part  of  the  poetry  of  the  senses,  as  he  who 
has  never  seen  the  sea  has  lost  some  strings  of  his 
lyre.  You  know  the  why  and  wherefore  of  these 
words.  My  relations  with  the  Marchioness  of  Dudley 
had  a  disastrous  celebrity.  At  an  age  when-  the  senses 
have  dominion  over  our  conduct,  and  when  in  my  case 
they  had  been  violently  repressed  by  circumstances,  the 
image  of  the  saint  bearing  her  slow  martyrdom  at 
Clochegourde  shone  so  vividly  before  mjT  mind  that  I 
was  able  to  resist  all  seductions.  It  was  the  lustre  of 
this  fidelit}T  which  attracted  Lady  Dudley's  attention. 
My  resistance  stimulated  her  passion.  What  she  chiefly 
desired,  like  many  Englishwomen,  was  the  spice  of 
singularity ;  she  wanted  pepper,  capsicum,  with  her 
heart's  food,  just  as  Englishmen  need  condiments  to 
excite  their  appetite.  The  dull  languor  forced  into  the 
lives  of  these  woman  by  the  constant  perfection  of 
everything  about  them,  the  methodical  regularity  of 
their  habits,  leads  them  to  adore  the  romantic  and  to 
welcome  difficulty.     I  was  wholly  unable   to  judge  of 


232  The  lily  of  the    Valley. 

such  a  cnaracter.  The  more  I  retreated  to  a  cold  dis- 
tance the  more  impassioned  Lady  Dudley  became.  The 
struggle,  in  which  she  gloried,  excited  the  curiosity  of 
several  persons,  and  this  in  itself  was  a  form  of  happiness 
which  to  her  mind  made  ultimate  triumph  obligatoty. 
Ah !  I  might  have  been  saved  if  some  good  friend  had 
then-repeated  to  me  her  cruel  comment  on  my  relations 
with  Madame  de  Mortsauf. 

"  I  am  wearied  to  death,"  she  said,  "  of  these  turtle- 
dove sighings." 

Without  seeking  to  justify  my  crime,  I  ask  3'ou  to 
observe,  Natalie,  that  a  man  has  fewer  means  of 
resisting  a  woman  than  she  has  of  escaping  him.  Our 
code  of  manners  forbids  the  brutality  of  repressing 
a  woman,  whereas  repression  with  your  sex  is  not  only 
allurement  to  ours,  but  is  imposed  upon  you  by  conven- 
tions. With  us,  on  the  contrary,  some  unwritten  law 
of  masculine  self-conceit  ridicules  a  man's  modest}' ;  we 
leave  you  the  monopoly  of  that  virtue,  that  you  may 
have  the  privilege  of  granting  us  favors ;  but  reverse 
the  case,  and  man  succumbs  before  sarcasm. 

Though  protected  by  my  love,  I  was  not  of  an  age  to 
be  wholly  insensible  to  the  triple  seductions  of  pride, 
devotion,  and  beauty.  When  Arabella  laid  at  my  feet 
the  homage  of  a  ball-room  where  she  reigned  a  queen, 
when  she  watched  my  glance  to  know  if  my  taste 
approved  of  her  dress,  and  when  she  trembled  with 
pleasure  on  seeing  that  she  pleased  me,  I  was  affected 
by  her  emotion.  Besides,  she  occupied  a  social  position 
where  I  could  not  escape  her ;  I  could  not  refuse  invi- 
tations in  the  diplomatic  circle  ;  her  rank  admitted  her 
everywhere,  and  with  the  cleverness  all  women  display 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  233 

to  obtain  what  pleases  them,  she  often  contrived  that  the 
mistress  of  the  house  should  place  me  beside  her  at 
dinner.  On  such  occasions  she  spoke  in  low  tones  to 
m$  ear.  u  If  I  were  loved  like  Madame  de  Mortsauf," 
she  said  once,  "  I  should  sacrifice  all."  She  did  submit 
herself  with  a  laugh  in  many  humble  ways  ;  she  promised 
me  a  discretion  equal  to  any  test,  and  even  asked  that 
I  would  merely  suffer  her  to  love  me.  '*  Your  friend 
always,  your  mistress  when  you  will,"  she  said.  At 
last,  after  an  evening  when  she  had  made  herself  so 
beautiful  that  she  was  certain  to  have  excited  my  de- 
sires, she  came  to  me.  The  scandal  resounded  through 
tEngland,  where  the  aristocracy  was  horrified  like  heaven 
itself  at  the  fall  of  its  highest  angel.  Lady  Dudley 
abandoned  her  place  in  the  British  empyrean,  gave  up 
her  wealth,  and  endeavored  to  eclipse  by  her  sacrifices 
her  whose  virtue  had  been  the  cause  of  this  great  dis- 
aster. She  took  delight,  like  the  devil  on  the  pinnacle 
of  the  temple,  in  showing  me  all  the  riches  of  her 
passionate  kingdom. 

Read  me,  I  pray  you,  with  indulgence.  The  matter 
concerns  one  of  the  most  interesting  problems  of  human 
life,  —  a  crisis  to  which  most  men  are  subjected,  and 
which  I  desire  to  explain,  if  only  to  place  a  warning 
light  upon  the  reef.  This  beautiful  woman,  so  slen- 
der, so  fragile,  this  milk-white  creature,  so  yielding, 
so  submissive,  so  gentle,  her  brow  so  endearing,  the 
hair  that  crowns  it  so  fair  and  fine,  this  tender 
woman,  whose  brilliancy  is  phosphorescent  and  fugi- 
tive, has,  in  truth,  an  iron  nature.  No  horse,  no  mat- 
ter how  fiery  he  ma}^  be,  can  conquer  her  vigorous 
wrist,  or  strive  against  that  hand  so  soft  in  appear- 


234  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

ance,  but  never  tired.  She  has  the  foot  of  a  doe,  a 
thin,  muscular  -Mttle  foot,  indescribabl}'  graceful  in  out- 
line. She  is  so  strong  that  she  fears  no  struggle ; 
men  cannot  follow  her  on  horseback ;  she  would  win 
a  steeple-chase  against  a  centaur ;  she  can  bring  down 
a  stag  without  stopping  her  horse.  Her  bod}'  never 
perspires,  it  inhales  the  fire  of  the  atmosphere,  and 
lives  in  water  under  pain  of  not  living  at  all.  Her 
love  is  African ;  her  desires  are  like  the  whirlwinds  of 
the  desert  —  the  desert,  whose  torrid  expanse  is  in  her 
e}Tes,  the  azure,  love-laden  desert,  with  its  changeless 
skies,  its  cool  and  starry  nights.  What  a  contrast  to 
Clochegourde  !  the  east  and  the  west !  the  one  drawing 
into  her  every  drop  of  moisture  for  her  own  nourish- 
ment, the  other  exuding  her  soul,  wrapping  her  dear 
ones  in  her  luminous  atmosphere ;  the  one  quick  and 
slender ;  the  other  slow  and  massive. 

Have  you  ever  reflected  on  the  actual  meaning  of  the 
manners  and  customs  and  morals  of  England?  Is  it  not 
the  deification  of  matter?  a  well-defined,  carefully  con- 
sidered Epicureanism,  judiciously  applied?  No  mat- 
ter what  may  be  said  against  the  statement,  England  is 
materialist  —  possibly  she  does  not  know  it  herself. 
She  lays  claim  to  religion  and  moralit}7,  from  which, 
however,  divine  spirituality,  the  catholic  soul,  is  absent ; 
and  its  fructifying  grace  cannot  be  replaced  by  any 
counterfeit,  however  well  presented  it  ma}'  be.  England 
possesses  in  the  highest  degree  that  science  of  exist- 
ence which  turns  to  account  every  particle  of  materi- 
ality ;  the  science  that  makes  her  women's  slippers  the 
most  exquisite  slippers  in  the  world,  gives  to  their  linen 
ineffable  fragrance,  lines  their  drawers  with  cedar,  serves 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  235 

tea  carefully  drawn,  at  a  certain  hour,  banishes  dust, 
nails  the  carpets  to  the  floors  in  every  corner  of  the 
house,  brushes  the  cellar  walls,  polishes  the  knocker 
of  the  front  door,  oils  the  springs  of  the  carriage,  —  in 
short,  makes  matter  a  nutritive  and  down}'  pulp,  clean 
and  shining,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  soul  expires  of 
enjoyment  and  the  frightful  monotony  of  comfort  in  a 
life  without  contrasts,  deprived  of  spontaneity,  and 
which,  to  sum  all  in  one  word,  makes  a  machine  of  i 
you.  — -^ 

Thus  I  suddenl}T  came  to  know,  in  the  bosom  of  this 
British  luxur}',  a  woman  who  is  perhaps  unique  among 
her  sex ;  who  caught  me  in  the  nets  of  a  love  excited 
b}7  m}T  indifference,  and  to  the  warmth  of  which  I  op- 
posed a  stern  continence,  —  one  of  those  loves  possessed 
•of  overwhelming  charm,  an  electricity  of  their  own, 
which  lead  us  to  the  skies  through  the  ivory  gates  of 
slumber,  or  bear  us  thither  on  their  powerful  pinions. 
A  love  monstrousty  ungrateful,  which  laughs  at  the 
bodies  of  those  it  kills  ;  love  without  memory,  a  cruel 
love,  resembling  the  policy  of  the  English  nation  ;  a  love 
to  which,  alas,  most  men  yield.  You  understand  the 
problem  ?  Man  is  composed  of  matter  and  spirit ;  ani-  / 
mality  comes  to  its  end  in  him,  and  the  angel  begins  in 
him.  There  lies  the  struggle  we  all  pass  through,  be- 
tween the  future  destin}'  of  which  we  are  conscious  and 
the  influence  of  anterior  instincts  from  which  we  are  not 
wholly  detached,  —  carnal  love  and  divine  love.  One 
man  combines  them,  another  abstains  altogether ;  some 
there  are  who  seek  the  satisfaction  of  their  anterior  ap- 
petites from  the  whole  sex ;  others  idealize  their  love 
in  one  woman  who  is  to  them  the  universe  ;  some  float 


L 


236  .  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

irresolutely  between  the  delights  of  matter  and  the  joys 
of  soul,  others  spiritualize  the  body,  requiring  of  it 
that  which  it  cannot  give. 

If,  thinking  over  these  leading  characteristics  of  love, 
}tou  take  into  account  the  dislikes  and  the  affinities  which 
result  from  the  diversity  of  organisms,  and  which  sooner 
or  later  break  all  ties  between  those  who  have  not  fully 
tried  each  other ;  if  you  add  to  this  the  mistakes  aris- 
ing from  the  hopes  of  those  who  live  more  particularly 
either  by  their  minds,  or  by  their  hearts,  or  b}T  action, 
who  either  think,  or  feel,  or  act,  and  whose  tendency  is 
misunderstood  in  the  close  association  in  which  two  per- 
sons, equal  counterparts,  find  themselves,  you  will  have 
great  indulgence  for  sorrows  to  which  the  world  is  piti- 
less. Well,  Lady  Dudle}7  gratified  the  instincts,  organs, 
appetites,  the  vices  and  virtues  of  the  subtile  matter  of 
which  we  are  made  ;  she  was  the  mistress  of  the  bodj~ ; 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  the  wife  of  the  soul.  The 
love  which  the  mistress  satisfies  has  its  limits ;  matter 
is  finite,  its  inherent  qualities  have  an  ascertained  force, 
it  is  capable  of  saturation ;  often  I  felt  a  void  even  in 
Paris,  near  Lady  Dudley.  Infinitude  is  the  region  of 
the  heart,  love  had  no  limits  at  Clochegourde.  I  loved 
Lady  Dudley  passionately  ;  and  certainly,  though  the 
animal  in  her  was  magnificent,  she  was  also  superior  in 
mind ;  her  sparkling  and  satirical  conversation  had  a 
wide  range.  But  I  adored  Henriette.  At  night  I  wept 
with  happiness,  in  the  morning  with  remorse. 

Some  women  have  the  art  to  hide  their  jealousy 
under  a  tone  of  angelic  kindness  ;  thej^  are,  like  Lady 
Dudley,  over  thirty  years  of  age.  Such  women  know 
how  to  feel  and  how  to  calculate  ;  they  press  out  the 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  237 

juices  of  to-da3T  and  think  of  the  future  also  ;  they  can 
stifle  a  moan,  often  a  natural  one,  with  the  will  of  a 
huntsman  who  pays  no  heed  to  a  wound  in  the  ardor 
of  the  chase.  Without  ever  speaking*  of  Madame  de  "~\ 
Mortsauf,  Arabella  endeavored  to  kill  her  in  my  soul, 
where  she  ever  found  her,  her  own  passion  increasing 
with  the  consciousness  of  that  invincible  love.  Intend- 
ing to  triumph  by  comparisons  which  would  turn  to  her 
advantage,  she  was  never  suspicious,  or  complaining, 
or  inquisitive,  as  are  most  }*oung  women  ;  but,  like  a 
lioness  who  has  seized  her  prey  and  carries  it  to  her 
lair  to  .devour,  she  watched  that  nothing  should  disturb 
her  feast,  and  guarded  me  like  a  rebellious  captive.  I 
wrote  to  Henriette  under  her  very  eyes,  but  she  never 
read  a  line  of  my  letters  ;  she  never  sought  in  any  way 
to  know  to  whom  the}'  were  addressed.  I  had  my 
liberty;  she  seemed  to  say  to  herself,  "  If  I  lose  him 
it  shall  be  my  own  fault,',  and  she  proudly  relied  on  a 
love  that  would  have  given  me  her  life  had  I  asked  for 
it,  —  in  fact  she  often  told  me  that  if  I  left  her  she 
would  kill  herself.  I  have  heard  her  praise  the  custom 
of  Indian  widows  who  burn  themselves  upon  their  hus- 
band's grave.  "  In  India  that  is  a  distinction  reserved 
for  the  higher  classes,"  she  said,  "  and  is  very  little 
understood  by  Europeans,  who  are  incapable  of  under- 
standing the  grandeur  of  the  privilege  ;  you  must  admit, 
however,  that  on  the  dead  level  of  our  modern  customs 
aristocracy  can  rise  to  greatness  only  through  unparal- 
leled devotions.  How  can  I  prove  to  the  middle  classes 
that  the  blood  in  my  veins  is  not  the  same  as  theirs, 
unless  I  show  them  that  I  can  die  as  they  cannot? 
Women  of  no  birth  can  have  diamonds  and  satins  and 


\i    • 

238  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

horses  —  even  coats-of-arms,  which  ought  to  be  sacred 
to  us,  for  any  one  can  buy  a  name.  But  to  love,  with 
our  heads  up,  in  defiance  of  law ;  to  die  for  the  idol  we 
have  chosen,  with  the  sheets  of  our  bed  for  a  shroud ; 
to  la}-  earth  and  heaven  at  his  feet,  robbing  the  Almighty 
of  his  right  to  make  a  god,  and  never  to  betray  that 
man,  never,  never,  even  for  virtue's  sake,  —  for,  to  refuse 
him  anything  in  the  name  of  dut}>  is  to  devote  ourselves 
to  something  that  is  not  he,  and  let  that  something  be 
a  man  or  an  idea,  it  is  betrayal  all  the  same,  —  these 
are  heights  to  which  common  women  cannot  attain  ; 
they  know  but  two  matter-of-fact  ways  ;  the  great  high- 
road of  virtue,  or  the  muddy  path  of  the  courtesan." 

Pride,  you  see,  was  her  instrument ;  she  flattered  all 
vanities  by  deifying  them.  She  put  me  so  high  that 
she  might  live  at  m}<  feet ;  in  fact,  the  seductions  of 

her  spirit   were   literally  expressed  by  an  attitude  of 

\  subserviency  and  her  complete  submission.  In  what 
I  words  shall  I  describe  those  first  six  months  when  I 
was  lost  in  enervating  enjoyments,  in  the  meshes  of  a 
love  fertile  in  pleasures  and  knowing  how  to  vary  them 
with  a  cleverness  learned  by  long  experience,  yet  hid- 
ing that  knowledge  beneath  the  transports  of  passion. 
These  pleasures,  the  sudden  revelation  of  the  poetry  of 
the  senses,  constitute  the  powerful  tie  which  binds 
young  men  to  women  older  than  they.  It  is  the  chain 
of  the  galley-slave  ;  it  leaves  an  ineffaceable  brand  upon 
the  soul,  filling  it  with  disgust  for  pure  and  innocent 
love  decked  with  flowers  onl\-,  which  serves  no  alcohol 
in  curiously  chased  cups  inlaid  with  jewels  and  sparkling 
with  unquenchable  fires. 

Recalling  my  early  dreams  of  pleasures  I  knew  noth- 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  239 

ing  of,  expressed  at  Clochegonrde  in  my  selams,  the 
voice  of  my  flowers,  pleasures  which  the  union  of  souls 
renders  all  the  more  ardent,  I  found  many  sophistries 
b3T  which  I  excused  to  myself  the  delight  with  which  I 
drained  that  jewelled  cup.  Often,  when,  lost  in  infinite 
lassitude,  my  soul  disengaged  itself  from  the  body  and 
floated  far  from  earth,  I  thought  that  these  pleasures 
might  be  the  means  of  abolishing  matter  and  of  render- 
ing to  the  spirit  its  power  to  soar.  Sometimes  Lady 
Dudley,  like  other  women,  profited  by  the  exaltation  in 
which  I  was  to  bind  me  by  promises  ;  under  the  lash  of 
a  desire  she  wrung  blasphemies  from  my  lips  against 
the  angel  at  Clochegourde.  Once  a  traitor  I  became  a 
scoundrel.  I  continued  to  write  to  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf,  in  the  tone  of  the  lad  she  had  first  known  in  his 
strange  blue  coat ;  but,  I  admit  it,  her  gift  of  second- 
sight  terrified  me  when  I  thought  what  ruin  the  indis- 
cretion of  a  word  might  bring  to  the  dear  castle  of  my 
hopes.  Often,  in  the  midst  of  my  pleasure  a  sudden 
horror  seized  me  ;  I  heard  the  name  of  Henriette  ut- 
tered by  a  voice  above  me,  like  that  in  the  Scriptures, 
demanding  :  "  Cain,  where  is  thy  brother  Abel?  " 

At  last  my  letters  remained  unanswered.  I  was 
seized  with  horrible  anxiety  and  wished  to  leave  for 
Clochegourde.  Arabella  did  not  oppose  it,  but  she 
talked  of  accompanying  me  to  Touraine.  Her  woman's 
wit  told  her  that  the  journey  might  be  a  means  of  finally 
detaching  me  from  her  rival ;  while  I,  blind  with  fear 
and  guilelessly  unsuspicious,  did  not  see  the  trap  she 
set  for  me.  Lady  Dudley  herself  proposed  the  humblest 
concessions.  She  would  stay  near  Tours,  at  a  little 
countiy-place,  alone,  disguised  ;  she  would  refrain  from 


J 


r 


240  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

going  out  in  the  day-time,  and  only  meet  me  in  the  even- 
ing when  people  were  not  likely  to  be  about.  I  left  Tours 
on  horseback.  I  had  my  reasons  for  this  ;  my  evening 
excursions  to  meet  her  would  require  a  horse,  and  mine 
was  an  Arab  which  Lady  Hester  Stanhope  had  sent  to 
the  marchioness,  and  which  she  had  lately  exchanged 
with  me  for  that  famous  picture  of  Rembrandt  which  I 
obtained  in  so  singular  a  wa}T,  and  which  now  hangs  in 
her  drawing-room  in  London.  I  took  the  road  I  had 
traversed  on  foot  six  years  earlier  and  stopped  beneath 
my  walnut-tree.  From  there  I  saw  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf  in  a  white  dress  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  terrace. 
Instantly  I  rode  towards  her  with  the  speed  of  lightning, 
in  a  straight  line  and  across  country.  She  heard  the 
stride  of  the  swallow  of  the  desert  and  when  I  pulled 
him  up  suddenly  at  the  terrace,  she  said  to  me :  "  Oh, 
you  here  ! " 

Those  three  words  blasted  me.  She  knew  my 
treachery.  Who  had  told  her?  her  mother,  whose 
hateful  letter  she  afterwards  showed  me.  The  feeble, 
indifferent  voice,  once  so  full  of  life,  the  dull  pallor 
of  its  tones  revealed  a  settled  grief,  exhaling  the 
breath  of  flowers  cut  and  left  to  wither.  The  tem- 
pest of  infidelity,  like  those  freshets  of  the  Loire  which- 
bur}7  the  meadows  for  all  time  in  sand,  had  torn  its 
wa}r  through  her  soul,  leaving  a  desert  where  once 
the  verdure  clothed  the  fields.  I  led  my  horse  through 
the  little  gate ;  he  lay  down  on  the  grass  at  my  com- 
mand and  the  countess,  who  came  forward  slowly, 
exclaimed,  "What  a  fine  animal!"  She  stood  with 
folded  arms  lest  I  should  try  to  take  her  hand ;  I 
guessed  her  meaning. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  241 

u  I  will  let  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  know  you  are  here," 
she  said,  leaving  me. 

I  stood  still,  confounded,  letting  her  go,  watching 
her,  always  noble,  slow,  and  proud,  —  whiter  than  I 
had  ever  seen  her ;  on  her  brow  the  yellow  imprint  of 
bitterest  melancholy,  her  head  bent  like  a  lily  heavy 
with  rain. 

"  Henriette  !  "  I  cried  in  the  agon}'  of  a  man  about 
to  die.  — , 

She  did  not  turn  or  pause ;  she  disdained  to  say  / 
that  she  withdrew  from  me  that  name,  but  she  did  not 
answer  to  it  and  continued  on.  I  may  feel  paltry  and 
small  in  this  dreadful  vale  of  life  where  myriads  of 
human  beings  now  dust  make  the  surface  of  the  globe, 
small  indeed  among  that  crowd,  hurrying  beneath  the 
luminous  spaces  which  light  them ;  but  what  sense 
of  humiliation  could  equal  that  with  which  I  watched 
her  calm  white  figure  inflexibly  mounting  with  even 
steps  the  terraces  of  her  chateau  of  Clochegourde,  the 

pride  and  the  torture  of  that  Christian  Dido  ?     I  cursed  / 

Arabella  in  a  single  imprecation  which  might  have 
killed  her  had  she  heard  it,  she  who  had  left  all  for  me 
as  some  leave  all  for  God.  I  remained  lost  in  a  world 
of  thought,  conscious  of  utter  misery  on  all  sides. 
Presently  I  saw  the  whole  family  coming  down ; 
Jacques,  running  with  the  eagerness  of  his  age.  Mad- 
eleine, a  gazelle  with  mournful  eyes,  walked  with  her 
mother.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  came  to  me  with  open 
arms,  pressed  me  to  him  and  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks 
crying  out,  "Felix,  I  know  now  that  I  owed  you  my 
life." 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  stood  with  her  back  towards 

16 


242  The  Lily  of  the    Valley, 

us  during  this  little  scene,  under  pretext  of  showing 
the  horse  to  Madeleine. 

"  Ha,  the  devil!  that's  what  women  are,"  cried  the 
count ;  "  admiring  your  horse  !  " 

Madeleine  turned,  came  up  to  me,  and  I  kissed  her 
hand,  looking  at  the  countess,  who  colored. 

"  Madeleine  seems  much  better,"  I  said. 

'*  Poor  little  girl !  "  said  the  countess,  kissing  her  on 
her  forehead. 

"  Yes,  for  the  time  being  they  are  all  well,"  answered 
the  count.  ''Except  me,  Felix;  I  am  as  battered  as 
an  old  tower  about  to  fall." 

"  The  general  is  still  depressed,"  I  remarked  to 
Madame  de  Mortsauf. 

"We  all  have  our  blue  devils  —  is  not  that  the 
English  term  ?  "  she  replied. 

The  whole  part}^  walked  on  towards  the  vine}Tard 
with  the  feeling  that  some  serious  event  had  happened. 
She  had  no  wish  to  be  alone  with  me.  Still,  I  was  her 
guest. 

"  But  about  your  horse  ?  why  is  n't  he  attended  to  ?  " 
said  the  count. 

"  You  see  I  am  wrong  if  I  think  of  him,  and  wrong 
if  I  do  not,"  remarked  the  countess. 

"  Well,  }'es,"  said  her  husband  ;  "  there  is  a  time  to 
do  things,  and  a  time  not  to  do  them." 

"I  will  attend  to  him,"  I  said,  finding  this  sort  of 
greeting  intolerable.  "  No  one  but  myself  can  put  him 
into  his  stall ;  my  groom  is  coming  bj~  the  coach  from 
Chinon  ;    he  will  rub  him  down." 

"  I  suppose  3'our  groom  is  from  England,"  she  said. 

"  That  is  where  they  all  come  from,"  remarked  the 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  243 

count,  who  grew  cheerful  in  proportion  as  his  wife 
seemed  depressed.  Her  coldness  gave  him  an  oppor- 
tunity to  oppose  her,  and  he  overwhelmed  me  with 
friendliness. 

"  My  dear  Felix,"  he  said,  taking  my  hand,  and 
pressing  it  affectionately,  "  pray  forgive  Madame  de 
Mortsauf;  women  are  so  whimsical.  But  it  is  owing 
to  their  weakness ;  they  cannot  have  the  evenness  of 
temper  we  owe  to  our  strength  of  character.  She  realty 
loves  you,  I  know  it ;  only  —  " 

While  the  count  was  speaking  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
gradually  moved  away  from  us  so  as  to  leave  us  alone. 

"  Felix,"  said  the  count,  in  a  low  voice,  looking  at  his 
wife,  who  was  now  going  up  to  the  house  with  her  two 
children,  "  I  don't  know  what  is  going  on  in  Madame 
de  Mortsauf 's  mind,  but  for  the  last  six  weeks  her  dis- 
position has  completely  changed.  She,  so  gentle,  so  de- 
voted hitherto,  is  now  extraordinarily  peevish." 

Manette  told  me  later  that  the  countess  had  fallen 
into  a  state  of  depression  which  made  her  indifferent  to 
the  count's  provocations.  No  longer  finding  a  soft  sub- 
stance in  which  he  could  plant  his  arrows,  the  man  be- 
came as  uneasy  as  a  child  when  the  poor  insect  it  is 
tormenting  ceases  to  move.  He  now  needed  a  confi- 
dant, as  the  hangman  needs  a  helper. 

"  Try  to  question  Madame  de  Mortsauf,"  he  said 
after  a  pause,  "  and  find  out  what  is  the  matter.  A 
woman  always  has  secrets  from  her  husband ;  but  per- 
haps she  will  tell  3^011  what  troubles  her.  I  would  sacri- 
fice everything  to  make  her  happy,  even  to  half  my 
remaining  days  or  half  my  fortune.  She  is  necessary 
to  my  ver}r  life.     If  I  have  not  that  angel  at  my  side  as 


244  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

I  grow  old  I  shall  be  the  most  wretched  of  men.  I  do 
desire  to  die  eas}-.  Tell  her  I  shall  not  be  here  long  to 
trouble  her.  Yes,  Felix,  my  poor  friend,  I  am  going 
fast,  I  know  it.  I  hide  the  fatal  truth  from  ever}T  one  ; 
why  should  I  worry  them  beforehand  ?  The  trouble  is 
in  the  orifice  of  the  stomach,  n^  friend.  I  have  at  last 
discovered  the  true  cause  of  this  disease  ;  it  is  my  sen- 
sibility that  is  killing  me.  Indeed,  all  our  feelings  affect 
the  gastric  centre." 

"  Then  do  }*ou  mean,"  I  said,  smiling,  "  that  the  best- 
hearted  people  die  of  their  stomachs?  " 

"  Don't  laugh,  Felix  ;  nothing  is  more  absolutely  true. 
Too  keen  a  sensibilit}7  increases  the  play  of  the  sym- 
pathetic  nerve ;  these  excitements  of  feeling  keep  the 
mucous  membrane  of  the  stomach  in  a  state  of  constant 
irritation.  If  this  state  continues  it  deranges,  at  first  in- 
sensibly, the  digestive  functions  ;  the  secretions  change, 
the  appetite  is  impaired,  and  the  digestion  becomes 
capricious  ;  sharp  pains  are  felt ;  the}-  grow  worse  da}' 
by  day,  and  more  frequent ;  then  the  disorder  comes  to 
a  crisis,  as  if  a  slow  poison  were  passing  the  alimentary 
canal ;  the  mucous  membrane  thickens,  the  valve  of 
the  pylorus  becomes  indurated  and  forms  a  scirrhus,  of 
which  the  patient  dies.  Well,  I  have  reached  that  point, 
my  dear  friend.  The  induration  is  proceeding  and  noth- 
ing checks  it.  Just  look  at  my  yellow  skin,  my  fever- 
ish e}-es,  my  excessive  thinness.  I  am  withering  away. 
But  what  is  to  be  done  ?  I  brought  the  seeds  of  the 
disease  home  with  me  from  the  emigration  ;  heaven 
knows  what  I  suffered  then !  My  marriage,  which 
might  have  repaired  the  wrong,  far  from  soothing  my 
ulcerated  mind  increased  the  wound.     What  did  I  find? 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  245 

ceaseless  fears  for  the  children,  domestic  jars,  a  fortune 
to  remake,  economies  which  required  great  privations, 
which  I  was  obliged  to  impose  upon  my  wife,  but  which 
I  was  the  one  to  suffer  from ;  and  then,  —  I  can  tell 
this  to  none  but  you,  Felix,  —  I  have  a  worse  trouble 
yet.  Though  Blanche  is  an  angel,  she  does  not  under- 
stand me  ;  she  knows  nothing  of  my  sufferings  and  she 
aggravates  them ;  but  I  forgive  her.  It  is  a  dreadful 
thing  to  say,  my  friend,  but  a  less  virtuous  woman 
might  have  made  me  more  happy  by  lending  herself  to 
consolations  which  Blanche  never  thinks  of,  for  she  is  as 
silly  as  a  child.  Moreover  my  servants  torment  me ; 
blockheads  who  take  my  French  for  Greek  !  When  our 
fortune  was  finally  remade  inch  by  inch,  and  I  had  some 
relief  from  care,  it  was  too  late,  the  harm  was  done ; 
I  had  reached  the  period  when  the  appetite  is  vitiated. 
Then  came  my  severe  illness,  so  ill-managed  by  Origet. 
In  short,  I  have  not  six  months  to  live." 

I  listened  to  the  count  in  terror.  On  meeting  the 
countess  I  had  been  struck  with  her  3-ellow  skin  and 
the  feverish  brilliancy  of  her  eyes.  I  led  the  count 
towards  the  house  while  seeming  to  listen  to  his  com- 
plaints and  his  medical  dissertations ;  but  rm'  thoughts 
were  all  with  Henriette,  and  I  wanted  to  observe  her. 
We  found  her  in  the  salon,  where  she  was  listening  to  a 
lesson  in  mathematics  which  the  Albbe  Dominis  was 
giving  Jacques,  and  at  the  same  time  showing  Made- 
leine a  stitch  of  embroidery.  Formerly  she  would  have 
laid  aside  eve^  occupation  the  day  of  my  arrival  to  be 
with  me.  But  my  love  was  so  deeply  real  that  I  drove 
back  into  my  heart  the  grief  I  felt  at  this  contrast  be- 
tween the  past  and  present,  and  thought  only  of  the 


246  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

fatal  yellow  tint  on  that  celestial  face,  which  resembled 
the  halo  of  divine  light  Italian  painters  put  around  the 
faces  of  their  saints.  I  felt  the  icy  wind  of  death  pass 
over  me.  Then  when  the  fire  of  her  eyes,  no  longer 
softened  by  the  liquid  light  in  which  in  former  times 
they  moved,  fell  upon  me,  I  shuddered ;  I  noticed  cer- 
tain changes,  caused  by  grief,  which  I  had  not  seen  in 
the  open  air.  The  slender  lines  which,  at  my  last  visit, 
were  so  lightly  marked  upon  her  forehead  had  deep- 
ened ;  her  temples  with  their  violet  veins  seemed  burn- 
ing and  concave  ;  her  e}res  were  sunk  beneath  the  brows, 
their  circles  browned  ;  —  alas  !  she  was  discolored  like  a 
fruit  when  decay  is  beginning  to  show  upon  the  surface, 
or  a  worm  is  at  the  core.  I,  whose  whole  ambition  had 
been  to  pour  happiness  into  her  soul,  I  it  was  who  em- 
bittered the  spring  from  which  she  had  hoped  to  refresh 
her  life  and  renew  her  courage.  I  took  a  seat  beside 
her  and  said  in  a  voice  filled  with  tears  of  repentance, 
"  Are  you  satisfied  with  your  own  health  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  plunging  her  eyes  into  mine. 
u  My  health  is  there,"  she  added,  motioning  to  Jacques 
and  Madeleine. 

The  latter,  just  fifteen,  had  come  victoriously  out  of 
her  struggle  with  anaemia,  and  was  now  a  woman.  She 
had  grown  tall ;  the  Bengal  roses  were  blooming  in  her 
once  sallow  cheeks.  She  had  lost  the  unconcern  of  a 
child  who  looks  every  one  in  the  face,  and  now  dropped 
her  eyes ;  her  movements  were  slow  and  infrequent,  like 
those  of  her  mother ;  her  figure  was  slim,  but  the  grace- 
fulness of  the  bust  was  already  developing  ;  already  an 
instinct  of  coquetry  had  smoothed  the  magnificent  black 
hair  which  lay  in  bands  upon  her  Spanish  brow.     She 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  217 

was  like  those  pretty  statuettes  of  the  Middle  Ages,  so 
delicate  in  outline,  so  slender  in  form  that  the  eye  as  it 
seizes  their  charm  fears  to  break  them.  Health,  the 
fruit  of  untold  efforts,  had  made  her  cheeks  as  velvety 
as  a  peach  and  given  to  her  throat  the  silken  down 
which,  like  her  mother's,  caught  the  light.  She  was  to 
live  !  God  had  written  it,  dear  bud  of  the  loveliest  of 
human  flowers,  on  the  long  lashes  of  her  eyelids,  on  the 
curve  of  those  shoulders  which  gave  promise  of  a 
development  as  superb  as  her  mother's !  This  brown 
young  girl,  erect  as  a  poplar,  contrasted  with  Jacques, 
a  fragile  youth  of  seventeen,  whose  head  had  grown 
immensely,  causing  anxiety  by  the  rapid  expansion  of 
the  forehead,  while  his  feverish,  weary  eyes  were  in 
keeping  with  a  voice  that  was  deep  and  sonorous.  The 
voice  gave  forth  too  strong  a  volume  of  tone,  the  eye 
too  many  thoughts.  It  was  Henriette's  intellect  and 
soul  and  heart  that  were  here  devouring  with  swift 
flames  a  body  without  stamina ;  for  Jacques  had  the 
milk-white  skin  and  high  color  which  characterize 
young  English  women  doomed  sooner  or  later  to  the  con- 
sumptive curse,  —  an  appearance  of  health  that  deceives 
the  eye.  Following  a  sign  by  which  Henriette,  after 
showing  me  Madeleine,  made  me  look  at  Jacques  draw- 
ing geometrical  figures  and  algebraic  calculations  on  a 
board  before  the  Abbe  Dominis,  I  shivered  at  the 
sight  of  death  hidden  beneath  the  roses,  and  was 
thankful  for  the  self-deception  of  his  mother. 

"  When  I  see  my  children  thus,  happiness  stills  my 
griefs — just  as  those  griefs  are  dumb,  and  even  dis- 
appear, when  I  see  them  failing.  My  friend, '  she  said, 
her   eyes    shining   with   maternal  pleasure,    "  if  other 


248  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

affections  fail  us,  the  feelings  rewarded  here,  the  duties 
done  and  crowned  with  success,  are  compensation 
enough  for  defeat  elsewhere.  Jacques  will  be,  like 
you,  a  man  of  the  highest  education,  possessed  of  the 
worthiest  knowledge ;  he  will  be,  like  you,  an  honor  to 
his  country,  which  he  may  assist  in  governing,  helped 
b3r  }ou,  whose  standing  will  be  so  high ;  but  I  will 
strive  to  make  him  faithful  to  his  first  affections. 
Madeleine,  dear  creature,  has  a  noble  heart ;  she  is 
pure  as  the  snows  on  the  highest  Alps  ;  she  will  have 
a  woman's  devotion  and  a  woman's  graceful  intellect. 
She  is  proud  ;  she  is  worthy  of  being  a  Lenoncourt. 
My  motherhood,  once  so  tried,  so  tortured,  is  happy 
now,  happy  with  an  infinite  happiness,  unmixed  with 
pain.  Yes,  my  life  is  full,  my  life  is  rich.  You  see, 
God  makes  my  joy  to  blossom  in  the  heart  of  these 
sanctified  affections,  and  turns  to  bitterness  those  that 
might  .have  led  me  astray  —  " 

"Good!"  cried  the  abbe,  joyfully.  "Monsieur  le 
vicomte  begins  to  know  as  much  as  I  — " 

Just  then  Jacques  coughed. 

"  Enough  for  to-day,  my  dear  abbe,"  said  the 
countess,  "  above  all,  no  chemistry.  Go  for  a  ride  on 
horseback,  Jacques,"  she  added,  letting  her  son  kiss  her, 
with  the  tender  and  yet  dignified  pleasure  of  a  mother. 
"  Go,  dear,  but  take  care  of  yourself." 

"But,"  I  said,  as  her  eyes  followed  Jacques  with 
a  lingering  look,  "you  have  not  answered  me.  Do  }'ou 
feel  ill?" 

"Oh,  sometimes,  in  my  stomach.  If  I  were  in  Paris 
I  should  have  the  honors  of  gastritis,  the  fashionable 
disease." 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  249 

"  My  mother  suffers  very  much  and  very  often,"  said 
Madeleine. 

'-  Ah  !  "  she  said,  "  does  my  health  interest  you?" 

Madeleine,  astonished  at  the  iron}T  of  these  words, 
looked  from  one  to  the  other ;  my  eyes  counted  the 
roses  on  the  cushion  of  the  gray  and  green  sofa  which 
was  in  the  salon. 

"This  situation  is  intolerable,"  I  whispered  in  her 
ear. 

"  Did  I  create  it?"  she  asked.  "Dear  child,"  she 
said  aloud,  with  one  of  these  cruel  levities  by  which 
women  point  their  vengeance,  M  don't  3*011  read  histoiy? 
France  and  England  are  enemies,  and  ever  have  been. 
Madeleine  knows  that ;  she  knows  that  a  broad  sea,  and 
a  cold  and  stormy  one,  separates  them." 

The  vases  on  the  mantelshelf  had  given  place  to 
candelabra,  no  doubt  to  deprive  me  of  the  pleasure  of 
filling  them  with  flowers  ;  I  found  them  later  in  my  own 
room.  When  my  servant  arrived  I  went  out  to  give 
him  some  orders ;  he  had  brought  me  certain  things  I 
wished  to  place  in  my  room. 

M  Felix,"  said  the  countess,  "  do  not  make  a  mistake. 
My  aunt's  old  room  is  now  Madeleine's.  Yours  is  over 
the  count's." 

Though  guiltj',  I  had  a  heart ;  those  words  were  dagger 
thrusts  coldly  given  at  its  tenderest  spot,  for  which  she 
seemed  to  aim.  Moral  sufferings  are  not  fixed  quan- 
tities ;  they  depend  on  the  sensitiveness  of  souls.  The 
countess  had  trod  each  round  of  the  ladder  of  pain  ; 
but,  for  that  very  reason,  the  kindest  of  women  was 
now  as  cruel  as  she  was  once  beneficent.  I  looked  at 
Henriette,  but  she  averted  her  head.     I  went  to  mv  new 


250  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

room,  which  was  pretty,  white  and  green.  Once  there  I 
burst  into  tears.  Henriette  heard  me  as  she  entered 
with  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  her  hand. 

"Henriette,"  I  said,  "  will  you  never  forgive  a  wrong 
that  is  indeed  excusable  ?  " 

"  Do  not  call  me  Henriette,"  she  said.  "  She  no 
longer  exists,  poor  soul ;  but  yon  ma}*  feel  sure  of 
Madame  de  Mortsauf,  a  devoted  friend,  who  will 
listen  to  you  and  who  will  love  you.  Felix,  we  will 
talk  of  these  things  later.  If  you  have  still  any  ten- 
derness for  me  let  me  grow  accustomed  to  seeing 
3'ou.  Whenever  words  will  not  rend  my  heart,  if  the 
day  should  ever  come  when  I  recover  courage,  I  will 
speak  to  you,  but  not  till  then.  Look  at  the  valley," 
she  said,  pointing  to  the  Indre,  "  it  hurts  me,  I  love  it 
still." 

"Ah,  perish  England  and  all  her  women!  I  will 
send  my  resignation  to  the  king ;  I  will  live  and  die 
here,  pardoned." 

"  No,  love  her  ;  love  that  woman  !  Henriette  is  not. 
This  is  no  play,  and  you  should  know  it." 

She  left  the  room,  betraying  by  the  tone  of  her  last 
words  the  extent  of  her  wounds.  I  ran  after  her  and 
held  her  back,  saying,  "  Do  yon  no  longer  love  me?  " 

"  You  have  done  me  more  harm  than  all  my  other 
troubles  put  together.  To-day  I  suffer  less,  therefore  I 
love  you  less.  Be  kind  ;  do  not  increase  my  pain ;  if 
you  suffer,  remember  that  —  I  —  live." 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  which  I  held,  cold,  motion- 
less, but  moist,  in  mine,  and  darted  like  an  arrow 
through  the  corridor  in  which  this  scene  of  actual 
tragedy  took  place. 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  251 

At  dinner,  the  count  subjected  me  to  a  torture  I  had 
little  expected.  "  So  the  Marchioness  of  Dudley  is  not 
in  Paris  ?  "  he  said. 

I  blushed  excessively,  but  answered,  "  No." 

"  She  is  not  in  Tours,"  continued  the  count. 

"  She  is  not  divorced,  and  she  can  go  back  to  Eng- 
land. Her  husband  would  be  very  glad  if  she  would 
return  to  him,"  I  said,  eagerly. 

"  Has  she  children?"  asked  Madame  de  Mortsauf, 
in  a  changed  voice. 

"  Two  sons,"  I  replied. 

"Where  are  they?" 

"  In  England,  with  their  father." 

"Come,  Felix,"  interposed  the  Count;  "be  frank; 
is  she  as  handsome  as  they  say?  " 

"  How  can  you  ask  him  such  a  question?"  cried  the 
countess.  "  Is  not  the  woman  you  love  always  the 
handsomest  of  women  ?  " 

"  Yes,  alwa3's,"  I  said,  firmty,  with  a  glance  which 
she  could  not  sustain. 

"  You  are  a  happy  fellow,"  said  the  count;  "  yes,  a 
very  happy  one.  Ha !  in  my  young  days,  I  should 
have  gone  mad  over  such  a  conquest  — " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  reminding  the 
count  of  Madeleine  by  a  look. 

"  I  am  not  a  child,"  he  said. 

When  we  left  the  table  I  followed  the  countess  to 
the  terrace.  When  weVere  alone  she  exclaimed,  "  How 
is  it  possible  that  some  women  can  sacrifice  their  chil- 
dren to  a  man?  Wealth,  position,  the  world,  I  can 
conceive  of ;  eternity  ?  yes,  possibly  ;  but  children ! 
deprive  one's  self  of  one's  children !  " 


r 


252  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

"  Yes,  and  such  women  would  give  even  more  if 
thej7  had  it ;   they  sacrifice  everything." 

The  world  was  suddenl}T  reversed  before  her,  her 
ideas  became  confused.  The  grandeur  of  that  thought 
struck  her ;  a  suspicion  entered  her  mind  that  sacrifice, 
immolation  justified  happiness ;  the  echo  of  her  own 
inward  cry  for  love  came  back  to  her ;  she  stood  dumb 
in  presence  of  her  wasted  life.  Yes,  for  a  moment 
horrible  doubts  possessed  her ;  then  she  rose,  grand 
and  saintlj',  her  head  erect. 

"  Love  her  well,  Felix,"  she  said,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes;  "she  shall  be  my  happy  sister.  I  will  forgive 
her  the  harm  she  has  done  me  if  she  gives  you  what 
you  could  not  have  here.  You  are  right ;  I  have  never 
told  30U  that  I  loved  }'Ou,  and  I  never  have  loved  }'ou 
as  the  world  loves.  But  if  she  is  a  mother  how  can 
she  love  you  so  ?  " 

"  Dear  saint,"  I  answered,  "  I  must  be  less  moved 
than  I  am  now,  before  I  can  explain  to  you  how  it  is 
that  you  soar  victoriously  above  her.  She  is  a  woman 
of  earth,  the  daughter  of  decaying  races  ;  you  are  the 
child  of  heaven,  an  angel  worthy  of  worship  ;  you  have 
my  heart,  she  nry  flesh  only.  She  knows  this  and  it 
fills  her  with  despair  ;  she  would  change  parts  with  you 
even  though  the  cruellest  martyrdom  were  the  price  of 
the  change.  But  all  is  irremediable.  To  you  the  soul, 
to  .you  the  thoughts,  the  love  that  is  pure,  to  you  }Touth 
and  old  age ;  to  her  the  desires  and  the  joys  of  pass- 
ing passion ;  to  you  remembrance  forever,  to  her 
oblivion  —  " 

"  Tell  me,  tell  me  that  again,  oh,  my  friend  !  "  she 
turned  to  a  bench  and  sat  clown,  bursting  into  tears. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  253 

"  If  that  be  so,  Felix,  virtue,  puritj'  of  life,  a  mother's 
love,  are  not  mistakes.  Oh,  pour  that  balm  upon  my 
wounds  !  Repeat  the  words  which  bear  me  back  to 
heaven,  where  once  I  longed  to  rise  with  you.  Bless 
me  by  a  look,  by  a  sacred  word,  —  I  forgive  you  for  the 
sufferings  you  have  caused  me  the  last  two  months." 

"  Henriette,  there  are  mysteries  in  the  life  of  men  of 
which  you  know  nothing.  I  met  you  at  an  age  when 
the  feelings  of  the  heart  stifle  the  desires  implanted  in 
our  nature ;  but  many  scenes,  the  memory  of  which 
will  kindle  my  soul  to  the  hour  of  death,  must  have 
told  you  that  this  age  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and 
it  was  3*our  constant  triumph  still  to  prolong  its  mute 
delights.  A  love  without  possession  is  maintained 
by  the  exasperation  of  desire  ;  but  there  comes  a  mo- 
ment when  all  is  suffering  within  us  —  for  in  this  we 
have  no  resemblance  to  you.  We  possess  a  power  we 
cannot  abdicate,  or  we  cease  to  be  men.  Deprived  of 
the  nourishment  it  needs,  the  heart  feeds  upon  itself, 
feeling  an  exhaustion  which  is  not  death,  but  which 
precedes  it.  Nature  cannot  long  be  silenced  ;  some 
trifling  accident  awakens  it  to  a  violence  that  seems 
like  madness.  No,  I  have  not  loved,  but  I  have 
thirsted  in  the  desert." 

"The  desert!"  she  said  bitterly,  pointing  to  the 
valle}'.  "Ah!"  she  exclaimed,  "how  he  reasons! 
what  subtle  distinctions !  Faithful  hearts  are  not  so 
learned." 

"  Henriette,"  I  said,  "  do  not  quarrel  with  me  for  a 
chance  expression.  No.  my  soul  has  not  vacillated, 
Out  I  have  not  been  master  of  my  senses.  That  woman 
is  not  ignorant  that  you  are  the  only  one  I  ever  loved. 


254  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

She  plays  a  secondary  part  in  my  life ;  she  knows  it 
and  is  resigned.  I  have  the  right  to  leave  her  as  men 
leave  courtesans." 

"And  then?" 

"  She  tells  me  that  she  will  kill  herself,"  I  answered, 
thinking  that  this  resolve  would  startle  Henriette.  But 
when  she  heard  it  a  disdainful  smile,  more  expres- 
sive than  the  thoughts  it  conveyed,  flickered  on  her 
lips.  "  My  dear  conscience,"  I  continued,  "if  3*011 
would  take  into  account  my  resistance  and  the  seduc- 
tions that  led  to  my  fall  3-ou  would  understand  the 
fatal  —  " 

-•Yes,  fatal!"  she  cried.  "I  believed  in  you  too 
much.  I  believed  3*011  capable  of  the  virtue  a  priest 
practises.  All  is  over,"  she  continued,  after  a  pause. 
"I  owe  you  much,  my  friend ;  3'ou  have  extinguished 
in  me  the  fires  of  earthty  life.  The  worst  of  the  wa3*  is 
over ;  age  is  coming  on.  I  am  now  ailing,  soon  I  may 
be  ill ;  I  can  never  be  the  brilliant  fairy  who  showers 
you  with  favors.  Be  faithful  to  Lady  Dudley.  Ma- 
deleine, whom  I  was  training  to  be  3*ours,  ah  !  who  will 
have  her  now?  Poor  Madeleine,  poor  Madeleine!" 
she  repeated,  like  the  mournful  burden  of  a  song.  "  I 
would  you  had  heard  her  say  to  me  when  3'ou  came: 
•  Mother,  you  are  not  kind  to  Felix  ! '    Dear  creature  !  " 

She  looked  at  me  in  the  warm  ra3*s  of  the  setting  sun 
as  the3r  glided  through  the  foliage.  Seized  with  com- 
passion for  the  shipwreck  of  our  lives  she  turned  back 
to  memories  of  our  pure  past,  yielding  to  meditations 
which  were  mutual.  We  were  silent,  recalling  past 
scenes ;  our  eyes  went  from  the  vahVv  to  the  fields, 
from  the  windows  of  Clochegourde  to  those  of  Frapesle, 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  255 

peopling  the  dream  with  m}'  bouquets,  the  fragrant  lan- 
guage of  our  desires.  It  was  her  last  hour  of  pleasure, 
enjoyed  with  the  purity  of  her  Christian  soul.  This 
scene,  so  grand  to  each  of  us,  cast  its  melancholy  on 
both.  She  believed  my  words,  and  saw  where  I  placed 
her  —  in  the  skies. 

"  My  friend,"  she  said,  "  I  obey  God,  for  his  hand  is 
in  all  this." 

I  did  not  know  until  much  later  the  deep  meaning  of 
her  words.  We  slowly  returned  up  the  terraces.  She 
took  my  arm  and  leaned  upon  it  resignedly,  bleeding 
still,  but  with  a  bandage  on  her  wound. 

"  Human  life  is  thus,"  she  said.  "  What  had  Mon- 
sieur de  Mortsauf  done  to  deserve  his  fate?  It  proves 
the  existence  of  a  better  world.  Alas,  for  those  who 
walk  in  happier  ways  !  " 

She  went  on,  estimating  life  so  truly,  considering  its 
diverse  aspects  so  profoundly  that  these  cold  judgments 
revealed  to  me  the  disgust  that  had  come  upon  her  for 
all  things  here  below.  When  we  reached  the  portico  she 
dropped  my  arm  and  said  these  last  words:  "If  God 
has  given  us  the  sentiment  and  the  desire  for  happiness 
ought  he  not  to  take  charge  himself  of  innocent  souls 
f  who  have  found  sorrow  only  in  this  low  world  ?  Either 
that  must  be  so,  or  God  is  not,  and  our  life  is  no  more 
than  a  cruel  jest." 

She  turned  and  entered  the  house  quickty ;  I  found 
her  on  the  sofa,  crouching,  as  though  blasted  by  the 
voice  which  flung  Saul  to  the  ground. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  I  asked." 

"I  no  longer  know  what  is  virtue,"  she  replied  ;  "  I 
have  no  consciousness  of  my  own." 


256  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

We  were  silent,  petrified,  listening  to  the  echo  of 
those  words  which  fell  like  a  stone  cast  into  a  gulf. 

t4  If  I  am  mistaken  in  my  life  she  is  right  in  hers" 
Henriette  said  at  last. 

Thus  her  last  struggle  followed  her  last  happiness. 
When  the  count  came  in  she  complained  of  illness,  she 
who  never  complained.  I  conjured  her  to  tell  me  ex- 
actly where  she  suffered ;  but  she  refused  to  explain 
and  went  to  bed,  leaving  me  a  prey  to  unending  re- 
morse. Madeleine  went  with  her  mother,  and  the 
next  day  I  heard  that  the  countess  had  been  seized 
with  nausea,  caused,  she  said,  by  the  violent  excite- 
ments of  that  day.  Thus  I,  who  longed  to  give  my 
life  for  hers,  I  was  killing  her. 

"  Dear  count,"  I  said  to  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  who 
obliged  me  to  play  backgammon,  u  I  think  the  countess 
very  seriously  ill.  There  is  still  time  to  save  her ;  pray 
send  for  Origet,  and  persuade  her  to  follow  his  advice." 

"Origet,  who  half  killed  me? "  cried  the  count.  "  No, 
no;  I'll  consult  Carbonneau." 

During  this  week,  especially  the  first  da}*s  of  it, 
everything  was  anguish  to  me  —  the  beginning  of  par- 
alysis of  the  heart  —  my  vanity  was  mortified,  my  soul 
rent.  One  must  needs  have  been  the  centre  of  all  looks 
and  aspirations,  the  mainspring  of  the  life  about  him,  the 
torch  from  which  all  others  drew  their  light,  to  under- 
stand the  horror  of  the  void  that  was  now  about  me. 
Ail  things  were  there,  the  same,  but  the  spirit  that 
gave  life  to  them  was  extinct,  like  a  blown-out  flame. 
I  now  understood  the  desperate  desire  of  lovers  never 
to  see  each  other  again  when  love  has  flown.  To  be 
nothing  where  we  were  once  so  much  !    To  find  the  chill- 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  257 

ing  silence  of  the  grave  where  life  so  lately  sparkled ! 
Such  comparisons  are  overwhelming.  I  came  at  last  to 
envy  the  dismal  ignorance  of  all  happiness  which  had 
darkened  my  youth.  My  despair  became  so  great  that 
the  countess,  I  thought,  felt  pit}-  for  it.  One  day  after 
dinner  as  we  were  walking  on  the  meadows  beside  the 
river  I  made  a  last  effort  to  obtain  forgiveness.  I  told 
Jacques  to  go  on  with  his  sister,  and  leaving  the  count 
to  walk  alone,  I  took  Henriette  to  the  punt. 

"  Henriette,"  I  said  ;  "  one  word  of  forgiveness,  or  I 
fling  nryself  into  the  Indre  !  I  have  sinned,  —  }'es,  it  is 
true ;  but  am  I  not  like  a  dog  in  his  faithful  attach- 
ments? I  return  like  him,  like  him  ashamed.  If  he 
does  wrong  he  is  struck,  but  he  loves  the  hand  that 
strikes  him  ;  strike  me,  bruise  me,  but  give  me  back 
your  heart." 

"  Poor  child,"  she  said,  "  are  }'ou  not  always  my 
son  ?  " 

She  took  my  arm  and  silently  rejoined  her  children, 
with  whom  she  returned  to  Clochegourde,  leaving  me 
to  the  count,  who  began  to  talk  politics  apropos  of  his 
neighbors. 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  I  said  ;  "}*ou  are  bare-headed,  and 
the  dew  ma}'  do  you  an  injury." 

M  You  pity  me,  my  dear  Felix,"  he  answered ;  "  you 
understand  me ;  but  my  wife  never  tries  to  comfort 
me, — on  principle,  perhaps." 

Never  would  she  have  left  me  to  walk  home  with  her 
husband  ;  it  was  now  I  who  had  to  find  excuses  to  join 
her.  I  found  her  with  her  children,  explaining  the 
rules  of  backgammon  to  Jacques. 

"  See  there,"  said  the  count,  who  was  always  jealous 
17 


258  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

of  the  affection  she  showed  for  her  children  ;  "it  is  for 
them  that  I  am  neglected.  Husbands,  my  dear  Felix, 
are  always  suppressed.  The  most  virtuous  woman  in 
the  world  has  waj-s  of  satisfying  her  desire  to  rob 
conjugal  affection." 

She  said  nothing  and  continued  as  before. 

"  Jacques,"  he  said,  "  come  here." 

Jacques  objected  slightly. 

"  Your  father  wants  you ;  go  at  once,  my  son,"  said 
his  mother,  pushing  him. 

"  They  love  me  by  order,"  said  the  old  man,  who 
sometimes  perceived  his  situation. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  answered,  passing  her  hand  over 
Madeleine's  smooth  tresses,  which  were  dressed  that 
day  a  la  belle  Ferronniere  ;  "  do  not  be  unjust  to  us 
poor  women ;  life  is  not  so  easy  for  us  to  bear.  Per- 
haps the  children  are  the  virtues  of  a  mother." 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  count,  who  took  it  into  his 
head  to  be  logical,  "  what  you  say  signifies  that  women 
who  have  no  children  would  have  no  virtue,  and  would 
leave  their  husbands  in  the  lurch." 

The  countess  rose  hastily  and  took  Madeleine  to  the 
portico. 

"  That 's  marriage,  my  dear  fellow,"  remarked  the 
count  to  me.  "  Do  }'ou  mean  to  imply  b}7  going  off  in 
that  manner  that  I  am  talking  nonsense  ?  "  he  cried  to 
his  wife,  taking  his  son  by  the  hand  and  going  to  the 
portico  after  her  with  a  furious  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  On  the  contra^,  Monsieur,  you  frightened  me. 
Your  words  hurt  me  cruelly,"  she  added,  in  a  hollow 
voice.  "  If  virtue  does  not  consist  in  sacrificing  ever}T- 
thing  to  our  children  and  our  husband,  what  is  virtue?" 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  259 

"  Sac-ri-fi-cing  ! "  cried  the  count,  making  each  sel- 
lable the  blow  of  a  sledge-hammer  on  the  heart  of  his 
victim.  "  What  have  you  sacrificed  to  your  children? 
What  do  you  sacrifice  to  me?  Speak  !  what  means  all 
this?  Answer.  What  is  going  on  here?  What  did 
you  mean  by  what  you  said  ?  " 

11  Monsieur,"  she  replied,  "  would  you  be  satisfied  to 
be  loved  for  love  of  God,  or  to  know  3  our  wife  virtuous 
for  virtue's  sake  ?  " 

"  Madame  is  right,"  I  said,  interposing  in  a  shaken 
voice  which  vibrated  in  two  hearts  ;  ' '  yes,  the  noblest 
privilege  conferred  by  reason  is  to  attribute  our  virtues 
to  the  beings  whose  happiness  is  our  work,  and  whom 
we  render  happy,  not  from  policy,  nor  from  duty,  but 
from  an  inexhaustible  and  voluntary  affection  —  " 

A  tear  shone  in  Henriette's  eyes. 

"And,  dear  count,"  I  continued,  "if  by  chance  a 
woman  is  involuntarily  subjected  to  feelings  other  than 
those  society  imposes  on  her,  }Tou  must  admit  that  the 
more  irresistible  that  feeling  is,  the  more  virtuous  she 
is  in  smothering  it,  in  sacrificing  herself  to  her  husband 
and  children.  This  theory  is  not  applicable  to  me  who 
unfortunately  show  an  example  to  the  contrary,  nor  to 
3'ou  whom  it  will  never  concern." 

"  You  have  a  noble  soul,  Felix,"  said  the  count, 
slipping  his  arm,  not  ungracefully,  round  his  wife's 
waist  and  drawing  her  towards  him  to  sa}' :  "  Forgive 
a  poor  sick  man,  dear,  who  wants  to  be  loved  more 
than  he  deserves." 

u  There  are  some  hearts  that  are  all  generosit3r,"  she 
said,  resting  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  The  scene 
made  her  tremble  to  such  a  degree  that  her  comb  fell, 


260  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

her  hair  rolled  down  and  she  turned  pale.  The  count, 
holding  her  up,  gave  a  sort  of  groan  as  he  felt  her  faint- 
ing ;  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  as  he  might  a  child,  and 
carried  her  to  the  sofa  in  the  salon,  where  we  all  sur- 
rounded her.  Henriette  held  my  hand  in  hers  as  if  to 
tell  me  that  we  two  alone  knew  the  secret  of  that  scene, 
so  simple  in  itself,  so  heart-rending  to  her. 

"I  do  wrong,"  she  said  to  me  in  a  low  voice,  when 
the  count  left  the  room  to  fetch  a  glass  of  orange-flower 
water.  "  I  have  many  wrongs  to  repent  of  towards 
you  ;  I  wished  to  fill  you  with  despair  when  I  ought  to 
have  received  you  mercifully.  Dear,  you  are  kindness 
itself,  and  I  alone  can  appreciate  it.  Yes,  I  know  there 
is  a  kindness  prompted  by  passion.  Men  have  various 
ways  of  being  kind ;  some  from  contempt,  others  from 
impulse,  from  calculation,  through  indolence  of  nature ; 
but  you,  my  friend,  }Tou  have  been  absolutely  kind." 

4k  If  that  be  so,"  I  replied,  u  remember  that  all  that 
is  good  or  great  in  me  comes  through  you.  You  know 
well  that  I  am  of  your  making." 

l*  That  word  is  enough  for  any  woman's  happiness," 
she  said,  as  the  count  re-entered  the  room.  "  I  feel 
better,"  she  said,  rising ;  "  I  want  air." 

We  went  down  to  the  terrace,  fragrant  with  the 
acacias  which  were  still  in  bloom.  She  had  taken  my 
right  arm,  and  pressed  it  against  her  heart,  thus  ex- 
pressing her  sad  thoughts  ;  but  they  were,  she  said, 
of  a  sadness  dear  to  her.  No  doubt  she  would  gladly 
have  been  alone  with  me ;  but  her  imagination,  inexpert 
in  women's  wiles,  did  not  suggest  to  her  any  way  of 
sending  her  children  and  the  count  back  to  the  house. 
We  therefore  talked  on    indifferent  subjects,  while  she 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  261 

pondered  a  means  of  pouring  a  few  last  thoughts  from 
her  heart  to  mine. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  driven  out,"  she  said, 
looking  at  the  beauty  of  the  evening.  "  Monsieur, 
will  you  please  order  the  carriage  that  I  may  take  a 
turn?" 

She  knew  that  after  evening  prayer  she  could  not 
speak  with  me,  for  the  count  was  sure  to  want  his  back- 
gammon. She  might  have  returned  to  the  warm  and 
fragrant  terrace  after  her  husband  had  gone  to  bed,  but 
she  feared,  perhaps,  to  trust  herself  beneath  those 
shadows,  or  to  walk  by  the  balustrade  where  our  eyes 
could  see  the  course  of  the  Indre  through  the  dear  valley. 
As  the  silent  and  sombre  vaults  of  a  cathedral  lift  the  soul 
to  pra}Ter,  so  leafy  ways,  lighted  by  the  moon,  perfumed 
with  penetrating  odors,  alive  with  the  murmuring  noises 
of  the  spring-tide,  stir  the  fibres  and  weaken  the  resolves 
of  those  who  love.  The  country  calms  the  old,  but 
excites  the  young.  We  knew  it  well.  Two  strokes  of 
the  bell  announced  the  hour  of  prayer.  The  countess 
shivered. 

4<  Dear  Henriette,  are  you  ill?  " 

"  There  is  no  Henriette,"  she  said.  '*  Do  not  bring 
her  back.  She  was  capricious  and  exacting ;  now  yoxx 
have  a  friend  whose  courage  has  been  strengthened  by 
the  words  which  heaven  itself  dictated  to  you.  We 
will  talk  of  this  later.  We  must  be  punctual  at  prayers, 
for  it  is  my  da}T  to  lead  them." 

As  Madame  de  Mortsauf  said  the  words  in  which  she 
begged  the  help  of  God  through  all  the  adversities  of 
life,  a  tone  came  into  her  voice  which  struck  all  present. 
Did   she   use   her  gift  of  second  sight  to  foresee  the 


262  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

terrible  emotion  she  was  about  to  endure  through  my 
forgetfulness  of  an  engagement  made  with  Arabella? 

"We  have  time  to  make  three  kings  before  the 
horses  are  harnessed,"  said  the  count,  dragging  me? 
back  to  the  salon.  4 '  You  can  go  and  drive  with  my 
wife,  and  I'll  go  to  bed." 

The  game  was  stormy,  like  all  others.  The  countess 
heard  the  count's  voice  either  from  her  room  or  from 
Madeleine's. 

"You  show  a  strange  hospitality,"  she  said,  re-enter- 
ing the  salon. 

1  looked  at  her  with  amazement ;  I  could  not  get 
accustomed  to  the  change  in  her ;  formerly  she  would 
have  been  most  careful  not  to  protect  me  against  the 
count ;  then  it  gladdened  her  that  I  should  share  her 
sufferings  and  bear  them  with  patience  for  love  of  her. 

"  I  would  give  my  life,"  I  whispered  in  her  ear,  "if 
I  could  hear  you  say  again,  as  3*011  once  said,  '  Poor 
dear,  poor  dear  !  '  " 

She  lowered  her  eyes,  remembering  the  moment  to 
which  I  alluded,  yet  her  glance  turned  to  me  beneath  her 
eyelids,  expressing  the  joy  of  a  woman  who  finds  the 
mere  passing  tones  from  her  heart  preferred  to  the  de- 
lights of  another  love.  The  count  was  losing  the 
game  ;  he  said  he  was  tired,  as  an  excuse  to  give  it  up, 
and  we  went  to  walk  on  the  lawn  while  waiting  for  the 
carriage.  When  the  count  left  us,  such  pleasure  shone 
on  my  face  that  Madame  de  Mortsauf  questioned  me  by 
a  look  of  surprise  and  curiosity. 

"  Henriette  does  exist,"  I  said.  "  You  love  me  still. 
You  wound  me  with  an  evident  intention  to  break  my 
heart.     1  may  yet  be  happy  !  " 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  263 

"  There  was  but  a  fragment  of  that  poor  woman  left, 
and  3rou  have  now  destroyed  even  that,"  she  said.  "  God 
be  praised  ;  he  gives  me  strength  to  bear  my  righteous 
martyrdom.  Yes,  I  still  love  3-ou,  and  I  might  have 
erred  ;  the  English  woman  shows  me  the  abyss." 

We  got  into  the  carriage  and  the  coachman  asked  for 
orders. 

u  Take  the  road  to  Chinon  b}'  the  avenue,  and  come 
back  by  the  Charlemagne  moor  and  the  road  to  Sache." 

"  What  day  is  it?"  I  asked,  with  too  much  eagerness. 

"  Saturday." 

"  Then  don't  go  that  way,  madame,  the  road  will  be 
crowded  with  poultry  men  and  their  carts  returning  from 
Tours." 

"  Do  as  I  told  you,"  she  said  to  the  coachman.  We 
knew  the  tones  of  our  voices  too  well  to  be  able  to 
hide  from  each  other  our  least  emotion.  Henriette 
understood  all. 

"  You  did  not  think  of  the  poultr}<-men  when  you  ap- 
pointed this  evening,"  she  said  with  a  tinge  of  irony. 
"  Lady  Dudley  is  at  Tours,  and  she  is  coming  here  to 
meet  you;  do  not  deny  it.  *  What  day  is  it?  —  the 
poultry -men  —  their  carts  ! '  Did  3rou  ever  take  notice 
of  such  things  in  our  old  drives?  " 

"  It  only  shows  that  at  Clochegourde  I  forget  every- 
thing," I  answered,  simply. 

"  She  is  coming  to  meet  }'ou?" 

"Yes." 

"  At  what  hour?" 

"  Half-past  eleven." 

"Where?" 

"  On  the  moor." 


264  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

u  Do  not  deceive  me  ;  is  it  not  at  the  walnut-tree?  " 

41  On  the  moor." 

"  We  will  go  there,"  she  said,  "  and  I  shall  see  her." 

When  I  heard  those  words  I  regarded  my  future  life 
as  settled.  I  at  once  resolved  to  marry  Lady  Dudley 
and  put  an  end  to  the  miserable  struggle  which  threat- 
ened to  exhaust  my  sensibilities  and  destnyy  by  these 
repeated  shocks  the  delicate  delights  which  had  hith- 
erto resembled  the  flower  of  fruits.  My  sullen  silence 
wounded  the  countess,  the  grandeur  of  whose  mind  I 
misjudged. 

"  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,"  she  said,  in  her  golden 
voice.  "  This,  dear,  is  my  punishment.  You  can 
never  be  loved  as  you  are  here,"  she  continued,  laying 
my  hand  upon  her  heart.  "I  now  confess  it;  but 
Lady  Dudley  has  saved  me.  To  her  the  stains,  —  I  do 
not  envy  them,  —  to  me  the  glorious  love  of  angels  !  I 
have  traversed  vast  tracts  of  thought  since  you  returned 
here.  I  have  judged  life.  Lift  up  the  soul  and  you 
rend  it ;  the  higher  we  go  the  less  sj-mpatlvy  we  meet ; 
instead  of  suffering  in  the  vallej*,  we  suffer  in  the  skies, 
as  the  soaring  eagle  bears  in  his  heart  the  arrow  of 
some  common  herdsman.  I  comprehend,  at  last  that 
earth  and  heaven  are  incompatible.  Yes,  to  those  who 
would  live  in  the  celestial  sphere  God  must  be  all  in  all. 
Our  souls  should,  then,  detach  themselves  from  earth. 
We  must  love  our  friends  as  we  love  our  children,  —  for 
them,  not  for  ourselves.  Self  is  the  cause  of  misery 
and  grief.  My  soul  is  capable  of  soaring  higher  than 
the  eagle ;  there  is  a  love  which  cannot  fail  me.  But 
to  live  for  this  earthly  life  is  too  debasing,  —  here  the 
selfishness  of  the  senses  reigns  supreme  over  the  spirit- 


V 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  265 

uality  of  the  angel  that  is  within  us.  The  pleasures  of 
passion  are  storm}',  followed  by  enervating  anxieties 
which  impair  the  vigor  of  the  soul.  I  came  to  the  shores 
of  the  sea  where  such  tempests  rage ;  I  have  seen  them 
too  near ;  %\\q\  have  wrapped  me  in  their  clouds ;  the 
billows  did  not  break  at  my  feet,  they  caught  me  in 
a  rough  embrace  which  chilled  my  heart.  No !  I 
must  escape  to  higher  regions  ;  I  should  perish  on  the 
shores  of  this  vast  sea.  I  see  in  jou,  as  in  all  others 
who  have  grieved  me,  the  guardian  of  my  virtue.  My 
life  has  been  mingled  with  anguish,  fortunately  propor- 
tioned to  my  strength  ;  it  has  thus  been  kept  free  from 
evil  passions,  from  seductive  peace,  and  ever  near  to 
God.  Our  attachment  was  the  mistaken  attempt,  the 
innocent  effort  of  two  children  striving  to  satisfy  their 
own  hearts,  God,  and  men  —  folty,  Felix  !  Ah,"  she 
said  quickly,   "what  does  that  woman  call  3'ou?" 

"  '  Amedee,' "  I  answered  ;  "  '  Felix'  is  a  being  apart, 
who  belongs  to  none  but  3'ou." 

"  '  Henriette'  is  slow  to  die,"  she  said,  with  a  gentle 
smile,  "  but  die  she  will  at  the  first  effort  of  the  humble 
Christian,  the  self-respecting  mother  ;  she  whose  virtue 
tottered  yesterda}7  and  is  firm  to-da}T.  What  may  I  say 
to  you?  This.  My  life  has  been,  and  is,  consistent 
with  itself  in  all  its  circumstances,  great  and  small. 
The  heart  to  which  the  rootlets  of  my  first  affection 
should  have  clung,  my  mother's  heart,  was  closed  to 
me,  in  spite  of  my  persistence  in  seeking  a  cleft  through 
which  they  might  have  slipped.  I  was  a  girl ;  I  came 
after  the  death  of  three  boys ;  and  I  vainly  strove  to 
take  their  place  in  the  hearts  of  my  parents  ;  the  wound 
I  gave  to  the  family  pride  was  never  healed.     When 


266  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

my  gloomy  childhood  was  over  and  I  knew  my  aunt, 
death  took  her  from  me  all  too  soon.  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf,  to  whom  I  vowed  myself,  has  repeatedly,  nay 
without  respite,  smitten  me,  not  being  himself  aware  of 
it,  poor  man  !  His  love  has  the  simple-minded  egotism 
our  children  show  to  us.  He  has  no  conception  of  the 
harm  he  does  me,  and  he  is  heartily  forgiven  for  it. 
My  children,  those  dear  children  who  are  bound  to  my 
flesh  through  their  sufferings,  to  my  soul  by  their  char- 
acters, to  my  nature  by  their  innocent  happiness,  — 
those  children  were  surely  given  to  show  me  how  much 
strength  and  patience  a  mother's  breast  contains.  Yes, 
my  children  are  my  virtues.  You  know  how  my  heart 
has  been  harrowed  for  them,  by  them,  in  spite  of  them. 
To  be  a  mother  was,  for  me,  to  buy  the  right  to  suffer. 
When  Hagar  cried  in  the  desert  an  angel  came  and 
opened  a  spring  of  living  water  for  that  poor  slave ; 
but  I,  when  the  limpid  stream  to  which  (do  you  re- 
member?) you  tried  to  guide  me  flowed  past  Cloche- 
gourde,  its  waters  changed  to  bitterness  for  me.  Yes, 
the  sufferings  you  have  inflicted  on  my  soul  are  terrible. 
God,  no  doubt,  will  pardon  those  who  know  affection 
only  through  its  pains.  But  if  the  keenest  of  these 
pains  has  come  to  me  through  you,  perhaps  I  deserved 
them.  ,  God  is  not  unjust.  Ah,  yes,  Felix,  a  kiss  fur- 
tively taken  may  be  a  crime.  Perhaps  it  is  just  that  a 
woman  should  harshly  expiate  the  few  steps  taken  apart 
from  husband  and  children  that  she  might  walk  alone 
with  thoughts  and  memories  that  were  not  of  them,  and, 
so  walking,  many  her  soul  to  another.  Perhaps  it  is 
the  worst  of  crimes  when  the  inward  being  lowers  itself 
to  the  region  of  human  kisses.     When  a  woman  bends 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  267 

to  receive  her  husband's  kiss  with  a  mask  upon  her 
face,  that  is  a  crime  !  It  is  a  crime  to  think  of  a  future 
springing  from  a  death,  a  crime  to  imagine  a  mother- 
hood without  terrors,  handsome  children  playing  in  the 
evening  with  a  beloved  father  before  the  eyes  of  a 
happy  mother.  Yes,  I  sinned,  sinned  greatly.  I  have 
loved  the  penances  inflicted  by  the  Church,  —  which  did 
not  redeem  the  faults,  for  the  priest  was  too  indulgent. 
God  has  placed  the  punishment  in  the  faults  themselves, 
committing  the  execution  of  his  vengeance  to  the  one 
for  whom  the  faults  were  committed.  When  I  gave  my 
hair,  did  I  not  give  myself?  Why  did  I  so  often  dress 
in  white  ?  because  I  seemed  the  more  jour  lily  ;  did  you 
not  see  me  here,  for  the  first  time,  all  in  white?  Alas  ! 
I  have  loved  my  children  less,  for  all  intense  affection 
is  stolen  from  the  natural  affections.  Felix,  do  you 
not  see  that  all  suffering  has  its  meaning.  Strike  me, 
wound  me  even  more  than  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  and 
my  children's  state  have  wounded  me.  That  woman  is 
the  instrument  of  God's  anger ;  I  will  meet  her  without 
hatred ;  1  will  smile  upon  her ;  under  pain  of  being 
neither  Christian,  wife,  nor  mother,  I  ought  to  love  her. 
If,  as  you  tell  me,  I  contributed  to  keep  jour  heart 
unsoiled  by  the  world,  that  Englishwoman  ought  not  to 
hate  me.  A  woman  should  love  the  mother  of  the  man 
she  loves,  and  I  am  your  mother.  What  place  have  I 
sought  in  your  heart?  that  left  empt}-  by  Madame  de 
Vandenesse.  Yes,  yes,  you  have  alwaj's  complained  of 
my  coldness ;  yes,  I  am  indeed  your  mother  only. 
Forgive  me  therefore  the  involuntarj*  harshness  with 
which  I  met  you  on  3*0111'  return  ;  a  mother  ought  to 
rejoice  that  her  son  is  so  well  loved  —  " 

UNIVERSITY  1 


268  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

She  laid  her  head  for  a  moment  on  my  breast,  repeat- 
ing the  words,  "Forgive  me!  oh,  forgive  me!"  in  a 
voice  that  was  neither  her  girlish  voice  with  its  joyous 
notes,  nor  the  woman's  voice  with  despotic  endings ; 
not  the  sighing  sound  of  the  mother's  woe,  but  an 
agonizing  new  voice  for  new  sorrows. 

'*  You,  Felix, "  she  presently  continued,  growing 
animated  ;  "  you  are  the  friend  who  can  do  no  wrong. 
Ah  !  you  have  lost  nothing  in  my  heart ;  do  not  blame 
yourself,  do  not  feel  the  least  remorse.  It  was  the 
height  of  selfishness  in  me  to  ask  you  to  sacrifice  the 
joys  of  life  to  an  impossible  future ;  impossible,  because 
to  realize  it  a  woman  must  abandon  her  children,  abdi- 
cate her  position,  and  renounce  eternity.  Many  a  time 
I  have  thought  3*ou  higher  than  I ;  you  were  great  and 
noble,  I,  petty  and  criminal.  Well,  well,  it  is  settled 
now  ;  I  can  be  to  3*011  no  more  than  a  light  from  above, 
sparkling  and  cold,  but  unchanging.  Onty,  Felix,  let 
me  not  love  the  brother  I  have  chosen  without  return. 
Love  me,  cherish  me !  The  love  of  a  sister  has  no 
dangerous  to-morrow,  no  hours  of  difficult3T.  You  will 
never  find  it  necessar3T  to  deceive  the  indulgent  heart 
which  will  live  in  future  within  3'our  life,  grieve  for 
3*our  griefs,  be  jo3*ous  with  3Tour  J03-S,  which  will  love 
the  women  who  make  30U  happ3r,  and  resent  their 
treacher3'.  I  never  had  a  brother  to  love  in  that  way. 
Be  noble  enough  to  lay  aside  all  self-love  and  turn  our 
attachment,  hitherto  so  doubtful  and  full  of  trouble, 
into  this  sweet  and  sacred  love.  In  this  wa3*  I  shall  be 
enabled  to  still  live.  I  will  begin  to-night  by  taking 
Lady  Dudley's  hand." 

She  did  not  weep  as  she  said  these  words  so  full  of 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  269 

bitter  knowledge,  by  which,  casting  aside  the  last  re- 
maining veil  which  hid  her  soul  from  mine,  she  showed 
by  how  manj^  ties  she  had  linked  herself  to  me,  how 
many  chains  I  had  hewn  apart.  Our  emotions  were  so 
great  that  for  a  time  we  did  not  notice  it  was  raining 
heavily. 

44  Will  Madame  la  comtesse  wait  here  under  shel- 
ter? "  asked  the  coachman,  pointing  to  the  chief  inn  of 
Ballan." 

She  made  a  sign  of  assent,  and  we  stayed  nearly  half 
an  hour  under  the  vaulted  entrance,  to  the  great  sur- 
prise of  the  inn-people  who  wondered  what  brought 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  on  that  road  at  eleven  o'clock  at 
night.  Was  she  going  to  Tours?  Had  she  come  from 
there  ?  When  the  storm  ceased  and  the  rain  turned  to 
what  is  called  in  Touraine  a  brouee,  which  does  not 
hinder  the  moon  from  shining  through  the  higher  mists 
as  the  wind  with  its  upper  currents  whirls  them  away, 
the  coachman  drove  from  our  shelter,  and,  to  my  great 
delight,  turned  to  go  back  the  wa}-  we  came. 

44  Follow  my  orders,"  said  the  countess,  gently. 

We  now  took  the  road  across  the  Charlemagne  moor, 
where  the  rain  began  again.  Half-way  across  I  heard 
the  barking  of  Arabella's  dog ;  a  horse  came  suddenly 
from  beneath  a  clump  of  oaks,  jumped  the  ditch  which 
owners  of  property  dig  around  their  cleared  lands  when 
they  consider  them  suitable  for  cultivation,  and  carried 
Lady  Dudley  to  the  moor  to  meet  the  carriage. 

44  What  pleasure  to  meet  a  lover  thus  if  it  can  be 
done  without  sin,"  said  Henriette. 

The  barking  of  the  dog  had  told  Lady  Dudlej^  that  I 
was  in  the  carriage.     She  thought,  no  doubt,  that  I 


270  The   Lily  of  the    Valley. 

had  brought  it  to  meet  her  on  account  of  the  rain. 
When  we  reached  the  spot  where  she  was  waiting,  she 
urged  her  horse  to  the  side  of  the  road  with  the  eques- 
trian dexterity  for  which  she  was  famous,  and  which  to 
Henriette  seemed  marvellous. 

"  Amedee,"  she  said,  and  the  name  in  her  English 
pronunciation  had  a  fairy-like  charm. 

"He  is  here,  madame,"  said  the  countess,  looking 
at  the  fantastic  creature  plainly  visible  in  the  moonlight, 
whose  impatient  face  was  oddly  swathed  in  locks  of  hair 
now  out  of  curl. 

You  know  with  what  swiftness  two  women  examine 
each  other.  The  Englishwoman  recognized  her  rival, 
and  was  gloriously  English  ;  she  gave  us  a  look  full  of 
insular  contempt,  and  disappeared  in  the  underbrush 
with  the  rapidity  of  an  arrow. 

"  Drive  on  quickly  to  Clochegourde,"  cried  the  coun- 
tess, to  whom  that  cutting  look  was  like  the  blow  of  an 
axe  upon  her  heart. 

The  coachman  turned  to  get  upon  the  road  to  Chinon 
which  was  better  than  that  to  Sache.  As  the  carriage 
again  approached  the  moor  we  heard  the  furious  gal- 
loping of  Arabella's  horse  and  the  steps  of  her  dog. 
All  three  were  skirting  the  wood  behind  the  bushes. 

"She  is  going;  you  will  lose  her  forever,"  said 
Henriette. 

"  Let  her  go,"  I  answered,  "  and  without  a  regret." 

"  Oh,  poor  woman  !  "  cried  the  countess,  with  a  sort 
of  compassionate  horror.     "  Where  will  she  go?  " 

14  Back  to  La  Grenadiere,  —  a  little  house  near  Saint- 
Cyr,"  I  said,  "  where  she  is  staying." 

Just  as  we  were  entering  the  avenue  of  Clochegourde 


V 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  271 

Arabella's  clog  barked  joyfulh'  and  bounded  up  to  the 
carriage. 

11  She  is  here  before  us !  "  cried  the  countess  ;  then 
after  a  pause  she  added,  "I  have  never  seen  a  more 
beautiful  woman.  What  a  hand  and  what  a  figure ! 
Her  complexion  outdoes  the  lily,  her  eyes  are  literally 
bright  as  diamonds.  But  she  rides  too  well ;  she  loves 
to  display  her  strength  ;  I  think  her  violent  and  too 
active,  —  also  too  bold  for  our  conventions.  The  woman 
who  recognizes  no  law  is  apt  to  listen  onty  to  her  ca- 1 
prices.  /Those  who  seek  to  shine,  to  make  a  stir,  have 
not  the  gift  of  constancy.) /Love  needs  tranquilly  J  I 
picture  it  to  myself  like  a  vast  lake  in  which  the  lead  can 
find  no  bottom  ;  where  tempests  ma}-  be  violent,  but  are 
rare  and  controlled  within  certain  limits ;  where  two 
beings  live  on  a  flowery  isle  far  from  the  world  whose 
luxury  and  display  offend  them.  Still,/love  must  take  I  1 
the  imprint  of  the  character,  perhaps  lam  wrong.  If 
nature's  elements  are  compelled  to  take  certain  forms 
determined  by  climate,  why  is  it  not  the  same  with  the 
feelings  of  individuals?  No  doubt  sentiments,  feelings, 
which  hold  to  the  general  law  in  the  mass,  differ  in  ex- 
pression only.  Each  soul  has  its  own  method.  Lady 
Dudley  is  the  strong  woman  who  can  traverse  distances 
and  act  with  the  vigor  of  a  man  ;  she  would  rescue  her 
lover  and  kill  jailers  and  guards ;  while  other  women 
can  only  love  with  their  whole  souls  ;  in  moments  of 
danger  they  kneel  down  to  pray,  and  die.  Which  of 
the  two  women  suits  you  best?  That  is  the  question?"" 
Yes,  3'es,  Lady  Dudley  must  surely  love  ;  she  has  made 
many  sacrifices.  Perhaps  she  will  love  you  when  }ou 
have  ceased  to  love  her !  " 


272  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

"  Dear  angel,"  I  said,  "  let  me  ask  the  question  you 
asked  me  ;  how  is  it  that  3*011  know  these  things  ? " 

"  Every  sorrow  teaches  a  lesson,  and  I  have  suffered 
on  so  man}'  points  that  my  knowledge  is  vast." 

My  servant  had  heard  the  order  given,  and  thinking 
we  should  return  by  the  terraces  he  held  my  horse 
ready  for  me  in  the  avenue.  Arabella's  dog  had  scented 
the  horse,  and  his  mistress,  drawn  by  very  natural 
curiosity,  had  followed  the  animal  through  the  woods 
to  the  avenue. 

u  Go  and  make  your  peace,"  said  Henriette,  smiling 
without  a  tinge  of  sadness.  "  Say  to  Lady  Dudley  how 
much  she  mistakes  my  intention ;  I  wished  to  show  her 
the  true  value  of  the  treasure  which  has  fallen  to  her ; 
my  heart  holds  none  but  kind  feelings,  above  all  neither 
anger  nor  contempt.  Explain  to  her  that  I  am  her 
sister,  and  not  her  rival." 

"  I  shall  not  go,"  I  said. 

"  Have  you  never  discovered."  she  said  with  lofty 
pride,  "  that  certain  propitiations  are  insulting?   Go  !  " 

I  rode  towards  Lad}7  Dudley  wishing  to  know  the 
state  of  her  mind.  '*  If  she  would  only  be  angry  and 
leave  me,"  I  thought, "  I  could  return  to  Clochegourde." 

The  dog  led  me  to  an  oak,  from  which,  as  I  came 
up,  Arabella  galloped  crying  out  to  me,  "  Come !  away  ! 
away !  "  All  that  I  could  do  was  to  follow  her  to 
Saint  Cyr,  which  we  reached  about  midnight. 

"  That  lady  is  in  perfect  health,"  said  Arabella  as 
she  dismounted. 

Those  who  know  her  can  alone  imagine  the  satire  con- 
tained in  that  remark,  dryly  said  in  a  tone  which 
meant,  "  I  should  have  died!" 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  278 

"I  forbid  you  to  utter  any  of  your  sarcasms  about 
Madame  de  Mortsauf,"  I  said. 

"Do  I  displease  your  Grace  in  remarking  upon  the 
perfect  health  of  one  so  dear  to  your  precious  heart? 
Frenchwomen  hate,  so  I  am  told,  even  their  lover's 
dog.  In  England  we  love  all  that  our  masters  love  ;  we 
hate  all  they  hate,  because  we  are  flesh  of  their  flesh. 
Permit  me  therefore  to  love  this  lady  as  much  as  you 
yourself  love  her.  Only,  my  dear  child,"  she  added, 
clasping  me  in  her  arms  which  were  damp  with  rain, 
"  if  you  betra}r  me,  I  shall  not  be  found  either  lying 
down  or  standing  up,  not  in  a  carriage  with  liveried 
lacke3's,  not  on  horseback  on  the  moors  of  Charlemagne, 
nor  on  an}'  other  moor  beneath  the  skies,  nor  in  my  own 
bed,  nor  beneath  a  roof  of  my  forefathers ;  I  shall  not 
be  anywhere,  for  I  will  live  no  longer.  I  was  born  in 
Lancashire,  a  country  where  women  die  for  love.  Know 
3Tou,  and  give  you  up?  I  will  yield  you  to  none,  not 
even  to  Death,  for  I  should  die  with  3*011." 

She  led  me  to  her  room,  where  comfort  had  already 
spread  its  charms. 

11  Love  her,  dear,"  I  said  warmly.  "  She  loves  30U 
sincerelj*,  not  in  jest." 

"  Sincerely  !  you  poor  child!  "  she  said,  unfastening 
her  habit. 

With  a  lover's  vanit}7  I  tried  to  exhibit  Henriette's 
noble  character  to  this  imperious  creature.  While  her 
waiting- woman,  who  did  not  understand  a  word  of 
French,  arranged  her  hair  I  endeavored  to  picture 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  by  sketching  her  life ;  I  repeated 
many  of  the  great  thoughts  she  had  uttered  at  a  crisis 
when  nearl}-  all  women   become  either  pett}T   or   bad. 

18 


274  -The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

Though  Arabella  appeared  to  be  paying  no  attention 
she  did  not  lose  a  single  word. 

"I  am  delighted,"  she  said  when  we  were  alone,  "  to 
learn  your  taste  for  pious  conversation.  There 's  an 
old  vicar  on  one  of  my  estates  who  understands  writing 
sermons  better  than  any  one  I  know  ;  the  country-people 
like  him,  for  he  suits  his  prosing  to  his  hearers.  I'll 
write  to  my  father  to-morrow  and  ask  him  to  send  the 
good  man  here  hy  steamboat ;  you  can  meet  him  in 
Paris,  and  when  once  you  have  heard  him  you  will 
never  wish  to  listen  to  any  one  else,  —  all  the  more  be- 
cause his  health  is  perfect.  His  moralities  won't  give  30U 
shocks  that  make  you  weep ;  they  flow  along  without 
tempests,  like  a  limpid  stream,  and  will  send  you  to 
sleep.  Elvery  evening  3011  can  if  3-ou  like  satisf\- 
3'our  passion  for  sermons  by  digesting  one  with  your 
dinner.  English  morality,  I  do  assure  3-ou,  is  as 
superior  to  that  of  Touraine  as  our  cutle^-,  our  plate, 
and  our  horses  are  to  your  knives  and  3-our  turf.  Do 
me  the  kindness  to  listen  to  1113-  vicar;  promise  me. 
I  am  only  a  woman,  my  dearest ;  I  can  love,  I  can  die 
for  3-ou  if  3-ou  will ;  but  I  have  never  studied  at  Eton,  or 
at  Oxford,  or  in  Edinburgh.  I  am  neither  a  doctor  of 
laws  nor  a  reverend  ;  I  can't  preach  morality  ;  in  fact,  I  am 
altogether  unfit  for  it,  I  should  be  awkward  if  I  tried. 
I  don't  blame  3rour  tastes  ;  3-011  might  have  others  more 
depraved,  and  I  should  still  endeavor  to  conform  to 
them,  for  I  want  3-ou  to  find  near  me  all  you  like  best,  — 
pleasures  of  love,  pleasures  of  food,  pleasures  of  piet3T, 
good  claret,  and  virtuous  Christians.  Shall  I  wear  hair- 
cloth to-night?  She  is  very  luck3T,  that  woman,  to  suit 
3'ou  in  morality.     From  what  college  did  she  graduate? 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  275 

Poor  I,  who  can  only  give  }Tou  myself,  who  can  only 
be  your  slave  —  " 

"Then  why  did  you  rush  away  when  I  wanted  to 
bring  you  together?" 

"Are  you  craz}',  Amedee?  I  could  go  from  Paris 
to  Rome  disguised  as  a  valet ;  I  would  do  the  most 
unreasonable  things  for  your  sake ;  but  how  can  you 
expect  me  to  speak  to  a  woman  on  the  public  roads 
who  has  never  been  presented  to  me, — and  who,  be- 
sides, would  have  preached  me  a  sermon  under  three 
heads?  I  speak  to  peasants,  and  if  I  am  hungry  I 
would  ask  a  workman  to  share  his  bread  with  me  and 
pay  him  in  guineas,  — that  is  all  proper  enough  ;  but  to 
stop  a  carriage  on  the  highway,  like  the  gentlemen  of 
the  road  in  England,  is  not  at  all  within  m}T  code  of 
manners.  You  poor  child,  you  know  only  how  to  love  ; 
you  don't  know  how  to  live.  Besides,  I  arn  not  like 
you  as  yet,  dear  angel ;  I  don't  like  morality.  Still,  I 
am  capable  of  great  efforts  to  please  yon.  Yes,  I  will 
go  to  work  ;  I  will  learn  how  to  preach ;  you  shall  have 
no  more  kisses  without  verses  of  the  Bible  interlarded." 

She  used  her  power  and  abused  it  as  soon  as  she  saw 
in  my  e3*es  the  ardent  expression  which  was  always 
there  when  she  began  her  sorceries.  She  triumphed 
over  everything,  and  I  complacently  told  myself  that  the 
woman  who  loses  all,  sacrifices  the  future,  and  makes 
love  her  only  virtue,  is  far  above  Catholic  polemics. 

"So  she  loves  herself  better  than  she  loves  you?" 
Arabella  went  on.  "  She  sets  something  that  is  not 
3tou  above  you.  Is  that  love?  how  can  we  women  find 
anything  to  value  in  ourselves  except  that  which  you 
value  in  us?     No  woman,  no  matter  how  fine  a  moralist 


276  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

she  may  be,  is  the  equal  of  a  man.  Tread  upon  us, 
kill  us  ;  never  embarrass  your  lives  on  our  account.  It 
is  for  us  to  die,  for  you  to  live,  great  and  honored.  For 
us  the  dagger  in  your  hand  ;  for  you  our  pardoning  love. 
Does  the  sun  think  of  the  gnats  in  his  beams,  that  live 
b}'  his  light?  they  stay  as  long  as  they  can  and  when 
he  withdraws  his  face  they  die  —  " 

tv  Or  fly  somewhere  else,"  I  said  interrupting  her. 

44  Yes,  somewhere  else,"  she  replied,  with  an  indiffer- 
ence that  would  have  piqued  any  man  into  using  the 
power  with  which  she  invested  him.  "  Do  you  really 
think  it  is  worth}"  of  womanhood  to  make  a  man  eat  his 
bread  buttered  with  virtue,  and  to  persuade  him  that 
religion  is  incompatible  with  love  ?  Am  I  a  reprobate  ? 
A  woman  either  gives  herself  or  she  refuses.  But  to 
refuse  and  moralize  is  a  double  wrong,  and  is  con- 
trary to  the  rule  of  the  right  in  all  lands.  Here,  3*011 
will  get  only  excellent  sandwiches  prepared  by  the  hand 
of  3'our  servant  Arabella,  whose  sole  morality  is  to 
imagine  caresses  no  man  has  }"et  felt  and  wrhich  the 
angels  inspire." 

I  know  nothing  more  destructive  than  the  wit  of  an 
Englishwoman ;  she  gives  it  the  eloquent  gravity,  the 
tone  of  pompous  conviction  with  which  the  British  hide 
the  absurdities  of  their  life  of  prejudice.  French  wit 
and  humor,  on  the  other  hand,  is  like  a  lace  with  which 
our  women  adorn  the  joys  the}"  give  and  the  quarrels 
they  invent;  it  is  a  mental  jewelry,  as  charming  as 
their  pretty  dresses.  English  wit  is  an  acid  which 
corrodes  all  those  on  whom  it  falls  until  it  bares  their 
bones,  which  it  scrapes  and  polishes.  The  tongue  of  a 
clever  Englishwoman  is  like  that  of  a  tiger  tearing  the 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  277 

flesh  from  the  bone  when  he  is  o\\\y  in  play.  All- 
powerful  weapon  of  a  sneering  devil,  English  satire 
leaves  a  deadly  poison  in  the  wound  it  makes.  Ara- 
bella chose  to  show  her  power  like  the  sultan  who,  to 
prove  his  dexterit}-,  cut  off  the  heads  of  unoffending 
beings  with  his  own  scimetar. 

'«  My  angel,"  she  said,  "  I  can  talk  morality  too  if  I 
choose.  I  have  asked  nryself  whether  I  commit  a 
crime  in  loving  you  ;  whether  I  violate  the  divine  laws  ; 
and  I  find  that  my  love  for  you  is  both  natural  and  pious. 
Why  did  God  create  some  beings  handsomer  than 
others  if  not  to  show  us  that  we  ought  to  adore  them  ? 
The  crime  would  be  in  not  loving  you.  This  lady  insults 
you  by  confounding  you  with  other  men ;  the  laws  of 
morality  are  not  applicable  to  you  ;  for  God  has  created 
you  above  them.  Am  I  not  drawing  nearer  to  divine  love 
in  loving  you?  will  God  punish  a  poor  woman  for  seek- 
ing the  divine?  Your  great  and  luminous  heart  so 
resembles  the  heavens  that  I  am  like  the  gnats  which 
flutter  about  the  torches  of  a  fete  and  burn  themselves  ; 
are  they  to  be  punished  for  their  error?  besides,  is  it  an 
error?  ma}- it  not  be  pure  worship  of  the  light?  They 
perish  of  too  much  piety,  —  if}-ou  call  it  perishing  to 
fling  one's  self  on  the  breast  of  him  we  love.  I  have  the 
weakness  to  love  you,  whereas  that  woman  has  the 
strength  to  remain  in  her  Catholic  shrine.  Now,  don't 
frown.  You  think  I  wish  her  ill.  No,  I  do  not.  I 
adore  the  morality  which  has  led  her  to  leave  you  free, 
and  enables  me  to  win  }ou  and  hold  you  forever  — 
for  you  are  mine  forever,  are  }'ou  not?  " 

"Yes." 

u  Forever  and  ever?  " 


278  The  Lily  of  the    Valley, 

"Yes." 

"  Ah!  I  have  found  favor  with  my  lord!  I  alone 
have  understood  his  worth !  She  knows  how  to  culti- 
vate her  estate,  you  say.  Well,  I  leave  that  to  farmers  ; 
I  cultivate  your  heart." 

I  try  to  recall  this  intoxicating  babble,  that  I  may 
picture  to  you  the  woman  as  she  is,  confirm  all  I  have 
said  of  her,  and  let  you  into  the  secret  of  what  hap- 
pened later.  But  how  shall  I  describe  the  accom- 
paniment of  the  words?  She  sought  to  annihilate 
by  the  passion  of  her  impetuous  love  the  impressions 
left  in  my  heart  by  the  chaste  and  dignified  love  of  my 
Henriette.  Lady  Dudley  had  seen  the  countess  as 
plainly  as  the  countess  had  seen  her ;  each  had  judged 
the  other.  The  force  of  Arabella's  attack  revealed  to 
me  the  extent  of  her  fear,  and  her  secret  admiration  for 
her  rival.  In  the  morning  I  found  her  with  tearful  eyes, 
complaining  that  she  had  not  slept. 

"  What  troubles  you  ?  "  I  said. 

"  I  fear  that  my  excessive  love  will  ruin  me,"  she  an- 
swered j  "  I  have  given  all.  Wiser  than  I,  that  woman 
possesses  something  that  you  still  desire.  If  you  pre- 
fer her,  forget  me ;  I  will  not  trouble  30U  with  nry  sor- 
rows, my  remorse,  m}-  sufferings  ;  no,  I  will  go  far 
away  and  die,  like  a  plant  deprived  of  the  life-giving 
sun." 

She  was  able  to  wring  prptestations  of  love  from  my 
reluctant  lips,  which  filled. her  with  joy. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  exclaimed,  drying  her  eyes,  "lam  happy. 
Go  back  to  her ;  I  do  not  choose  to  owe  you  to  the 
force  of  my  love,  but  to  the  action  of  your  own  will.  If 
3011  return  here  I  shall  know  that  you  love  me  as  much 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  279 

as  I  love  you,  the  possibility  of  which  I  have  always 
doubted." 

She  persuaded  me  to  return  to  Clochegourde.  The 
false  position  in  which  I  thus  placed  myself  did  not 
strike  me  while  still  under  the  influence  of  her  wiles. 
Yet,  had  I  refused  to  return  I  should  have  given  Lady 
Dudley  a  triumph  over  Henriette.  Arabella  would  then 
have  taken  me  to  Paris.  To  go  now  to  Clochegourde 
was  an  open  insult  to  Madame  de  Mortsauf;  in  that 
case  Arabella  was  sure  of  me.  Did  any  woman  ever 
pardon  such  crimes  against  love?  Unless  she  were  an 
angel  descending  from  the  skies,  instead  of  a  purified 
spirit  ascending  to  them,  a  loving  woman  would  rather 
see  her  lover  die  than  know  him  happy  with  another. 
Thus,  look  at  it  as  I  would,  my  situation,  after  I  had 
once  left  Clochegourde  for  the  Grenadiere,  was  as  fatal 
to  the  love  of  my  choice  as  it  was  profitable  to  the 
transient  love  that  held  me.  Lady  Dudle}'  had  calcu- 
lated all  this  with  consummate  cleverness.  She  owned 
to  me  later  that  if  she  had  not  met  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf on  the  moor  she  had  intended  to  compromise  me 
by  haunting  Clochegourde  until  she  did  so. 

When  I  met  the  countess  that  morning,  and  found 
her  pale  and  depressed  like  one  who  has  not  slept  all 
night,  I  was  conscious  of  exercising  the  instinctive  per- 
ception given  to  hearts  still  fresh  and  generous  to  show 
them  the  true  bearing  of  actions  little  regarded  by  the 
world  at  large,  but  judged  as  criminal  by  lofty  spirits. 
Like  a  child  going  down  a  precipice  in  play  and  gather- 
ing flowers,  who  sees  with  dread  that  it  can  never  climb 
that  height  again,  feels  itself  alone,  with  night  approach- 
ing, and  hears  the  howl  of  animals,  so  I  now  knew  that 


280  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

she  and  I  were  separated  hy  a  universe.  A  wail  arose 
within  our  souls  like  an  echo  of  that  woful  Consum- 
matum  est  heard  in  the  churches  on  Good  Friday  at 
the  hour  the  Saviour  died,  —  a  dreadful  scene  which 
awes  young  souls  whose  first  love  is  religion.  All  Hen- 
riette's  illusions  were  killed  at  one  blow  ;  her  heart  had 
endured  its  passion.  She  did  not  look  at  me ;  she  re- 
fused me  the  light  that  for  six  long  years  had  shone 
upon  my  life.  She  knew  well  that  the  spring  of  the 
effulgent  rays  shed  by  our  eyes  was  in  our  souls,  to 
which  they  served  as  pathways  to  reach  each  other,  to 
blend  them  in  one,  meeting,  parting,  playing,  like 
two  confiding  women  who  tell  each  other  all.  Bitterly 
I  felt  the  wrong  of  bringing  beneath  this  roof,  where 
pleasure  was  unknown,  a  face  on  which  the  wings  of 
pleasure  had  shaken  their  prismatic  dust.  If,  the 
night  before,  I  had  allowed  Lady  Dudle\r  to  depart 
alone,  if  I  had  then  returned  to  Clochegourde,  where, 
it  ma}r  be,  Henriette  awaited  me,  perhaps  —  perhaps 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  might  not  so  cruelly  have  re- 
solved to  be  my  sister.  But  now  she  paid  me  many 
ostentatious  attentions, — playing  her  part  vehemently 
for  the  very  purpose  of  not  changing  it.  During  break- 
fast she  showed  me  a  thousand  civilities,  humiliating  at- 
tentions, caring  for  me  as  though  I  were  a  sick  man 
whose  fate  she  pitied. 

"  You  were  out  walking  early,"  said  the  count ;  "  I 
hope  you  have  brought  back  a  good  appetite,  3'ou  whose 
stomach  is  not  yet  destroyed." 

This  remark,  which  brought  the  smile  of  a  sister 
to  Henriette's  lips,  completed  my  sense  of  the  ridicule 
of  my  position.     It  was  impossible  to  be  at  Cloche- 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  281 

gourde  by  day  and  Saint-Cyr  at  night.  During  this 
day  I  felt  how  difficult  it  was  to  become  the  friend  of 
a  woman  we  have  long  loved.  The  transition,  easy 
enough  when  years  have  brought  it  about,  is  like  an 
illness  in  youth.  I  was  ashamed ;  I  cursed  the  pleas- 
ure Lady  Dudley  gave  me;  I  wished  that  Henriette 
would  demand  my  blood.  I  could  not  tear  her  rival 
in  pieces  before  her,  for  she  avoided  speaking  of  her ; 
indeed,  had  I  spoken  ill  of  Arabella,  Henriette,  noble 
and  sublime  to  the  inmost  recesses  of  her  heart,  would 
have  despised  my  infamy.  After  five  years  of  delight- 
ful intercourse  we  now  had  nothing  to  say  to  each  other ; 
our  words  had  no  connection  with  our  thoughts  ;  we 
were  hiding  from  each  other  our  intolerable  pain,  —  we, 
whose  mutual  sufferings  had  been  our  first  interpreter. 

Henriette  assumed  a  cheerful  look  for  me  as  for 
herself,  but  she  was  sad.  She  spoke  of  herself  as  my 
sister,  and  yet  found  no  ground  on  which  to  converse ; 
and  we  remained  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  in  con- 
strained silence.  She  increased  my  inward  misery  by 
feigning  to  believe  that  she  was  the  only  victim. 

" 1  suffer  more  than  you,"  I  said  to  her  at  a  moment 
when  my  self-styled  sister  was  betrayed  into  a  feminine 
sarcasm. 

"  How  so?  "  she  asked  haughtily. 

"  Because  I  am  the  one  to  blame." 

At  last  her  manner  became  so  cold  and  indifferent 
that  I  resolved  to  leave  Clochegourde.  That  evening, 
on  the  terrace,  I  said  farewell  to  the  whole  family,  who 
were  there  assembled.  The}'  all  followed  me  to  the 
lawn  where  my  horse  was  waiting.  The  countess  came 
to  me  as  I  took  the  bridle  in  my  hand. 


282  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

44  Let  us  walk  down  the  avenue  together,  alone,"  she 
said. 

I  gave  her  m}-  arm,  and  we  passed  through  the  court- 
yard with  slow  and  measured  steps,  as  though  our 
rhythmic  movement  were  consoling  to  us.  When  we 
reached  the  grove  of  trees  which  forms  a  corner  of 
the  boundary  she  stopped. 

4' Farewell,  my  friend,"  she  said,  throwing  her  head 
upon  my  breast  and  her  arms  around  my  neck,  "  Fare- 
well;  we  shall  never  meet  again.  God  has  given  me 
the  sad  power  to  look  into  the  future.  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  terror  that  seized  me  the  day  you  first  came 
back,  so  young,  so  handsome  !  and  I  saw  you  turn  your 
back  on  me  as  you  do  this  day  when  you  are  leaving 
Clochegourde  and  going  to  Saint-C3Tr?  Well,  once 
again,  during  the  past  night  I  have  seen  into  the 
future.  Friend,  we  are  speaking  together  for  the  last 
time.  I  can  hardly  now  say  a  few  words  to  you,  for 
it  is  but  a  part  of  me  that  speaks  at  all.  Death  has 
already  seized  on  something  in  me.  You  have  taken 
the  mother  from  her  children,  I  now  ask  you  to  take 
her  place  to  them.  You  can ;  Jacques  and  Madeleine 
love  you  —  as  if  you  had  always  made  them  suffer." 

44  Death!"  I  cried,  frightened  as  I  looked  at  her 
and  beheld  the  fire  of  her  shining  eyes,  of  which  I  can 
give  no  idea  to  those  who  have  never  known  their  dear 
ones  struck  down  by  her  fatal  malady,  unless  I  compare 
those  e}'es  to  balls  of  burnished  silver.  "  Die  !  "  I  said. 
44  Henriette,  I  command  you  to  live.  You  used  to  ask 
an  oath  of  me,  I  now  ask  one  of  you.  Swear  to  me 
that  you  will  send  for  Origet  and  obey  him  in  every- 
thing." 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley,  283 

"  Would  you  oppose  the  mere}'  of  God  ?  "  she  said, 
interrupting  me  with  a  cry  of  despair  at  being  thus 
misunderstood. 

"  You  do  not  love  me  enough  to  obey  me  blindly,  as 
that  miserable  Lady  Dudley  does?  " 

4i  Yes,  yes,  I  will  do  all  you  ask,"  she  cried,  goaded 
by  jealous}7. 

"  Then  I  sta}',"  I  said,  kissing  her  on  the  eyelids. 

Frightened  at  the  words,  she  escaped  from  my  arms 
and  leaned  against  a  tree  ;  then  she  turned  and  walked 
rapidly  homeward  without  looking  back.  But  I  fol- 
lowed her ;  she  was  weeping  and  praying.  When  we 
reached  the  lawn  I  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it  re- 
spectfully.    This  submission  touched  her. 

14 1  am  yours  —  forever,  and  as  }*ou  will,"  I  said; 
M  for  I  love  }7ou  as  your  aunt  loved  you." 

She  trembled  and  wrung  my  hand. 

44  One  look,"  I  said,  "  one  more,  one  last  of  our  old 
looks  !  The  woman  who  gives  herself  wholl}r,"  I  cried, 
my  soul  illumined  by  the  glance  she  gave  me,  "  gives 
less  of  life  and  soul  than  I  have  now  received.  Henri- 
etta, thou  art  nry  best-beloved  —  my  onty  love." 

"  I  shall  live  !  "  she  said  ;  "  but  cure  j'ourself  as 
well." 

That  look  had  effaced  the  memory  of  Arabella's  sar- 
casms. Thus  I  was  the  plaything  of  the  two  irrecon- 
cilable passions  I  have  now  described  to  you  ;  I  was 
influenced  by  each  alternately.  I  loved  an  angel  and  a 
demon ;  two  women  equalty  beautiful,  —  one  adorned 
with  all  the  virtues  which  we  decry  through  hatred  of 
our  own  imperfections,  the  other  with  all  the  vices 
which  we  deify  through  selfishness.     Returning  along 


284  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

that  avenue,  looking  back  again  and  again  at  Madame 
de  Mortsauf,  as  she  leaned  against  a  tree  surrounded  hy 
her  children  who  waved  their  handkerchiefs,  I  detected 
in  my  soul  an  emotion  of  pride  in  finding  myself  the 
arbiter  of  two  such  destinies ;  the  glory,  in  ways  so 
different,  of  women  so  distinguished  ;  proud  of  inspir- 
ing such  great  passions  that  death  must  come  to  which- 
ever I  abandoned.  Ah !  believe  me,  that  passing 
conceit  has  been  doubly  punished  ! 

I  know  not  what  demon  prompted  me  to  remain  with 
Arabella  and  awrait  the  moment  when  the  death  of  the 
count  might  give  me  Henriette  ;  for  she  would  ever 
love  me.  Her  harshness,  her  tears,  her  remorse,  her 
Christian  resignation,  were  so  many  eloquent  signs  of 
a  sentiment  that  could  no  more  be  effaced  from  her 
heart  than  from  mine.  Walking  slowly  down  that 
pretty  avenue  and  making  these  reflections,  I  was  no 
longer  twenty-five,  I  was  fifty  years  old.  A  man  passes 
in  a  moment,  even  more  quickly  than  a  woman,  from 
youth  to  middle  age.  Though  long  ago  I  drove  these 
evil  thoughts  away  from  me,  I  was  then  possessed  by 
them,  I  must  avow  it.  Perhaps  I  owed  their  presence 
in  m  3^  mind  to  the  Tuileries,  to  the  king's  cabinet.  Who 
could  resist  the  polluting  spirit  of  Louis  XVIII.  ? 

When  I  reached  the  end  of  the  avenue  I  turned  and 
rushed  back  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  seeing  that 
Henriette  was  still  there,  and  alone !  I  went  to  bid 
her  a  last  farewell,  bathed  in  repentant  tears,  the  cause 
of  which  she  never  knew.  Tears  sincere  indeed  ;  given, 
although  I  knew  it  not,  to  noble  loves  forever  lost,  to 
virgin  emotions  —  those  flowers  of  our  life  which  cannot 
bloom  again.     Later,  a  man  gives  nothing,  he  receives  ; 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  285 

he  loves  himself  in  his  mistress  ;  but  in  youth  he  loves 
his  mistress  in  himself.  Later,  we  inoculate  with  our 
tastes,  perhaps  our  vices,  the  woman  who  loves  us ; 
but  in  the  dawn  of  life  she  whom  we  love  conveys  to  us 
her  virtues,  her  conscience.  She  invites  us  with  a 
smile  to  the  noble  life ;  from  her  we  learn  the  self- 
devotion  which  she  practises.  Woe  to  the  man  who 
has  not  had  his  Henriette.  Woe  to  that  other  who  has 
never  known  a  Lady  Dudley.  The  latter,  if  he  marries, 
will  not  be  able  to  keep  his  wife  ;  the  other  will  be  aban- 
doned by  his  mistress.  But  joy  to  him  who  can  find 
the  two  women  in  one  woman ;  happy  the  man,  dear 
Natalie,  whom  you  love. 

After  my  return  to  Paris  Arabella  and  I  became 
more  intimate  than  ever.  Soon  we  insensibly  aban- 
doned all  the  conventional  restrictions  I  had  carefully 
imposed,  the  strict  observance  of  which  often  makes 
the  world  forgive  the  false  position  in  which  Lady 
Dudley  had  placed  herself.  Society,  which  delights  in 
looking  behind  appearances,  sanctions  much  as  soon  as 
it  knows  the  secrets  they  conceal.  Lovers  who  live  in 
the  great  world  make  a  mistake  in  flinging  down 
these  barriers  exacted  by  the  law  of  salons ;  the}'  do 
wrong  not  to  obey  scrupulously  all  conventions  which 
the  manners  and  customs  of  a  community  impose,  —  less 
for  the  sake  of  others  than  for  their  own.  Outward  re- 
spect to  be  maintained,  comedies  to  play,  concealments 
to  be  managed  ;  all  such  strateg}7  of  love  occupies  the 
life,  renews  desire,  and  protects  the  heart  against  the 
palsy  of  habit.  But  all  }Toung  passions,  being,  like 
youth  itself,  essentially  spendthrift,  raze  their  forests 
to   the  ground   instead   of  merely  cutting  the  timber. 


286  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

Arabella  adopted  none  of  these  bourgeois  ideas,  and 
yielded  to  them  only  to  please  me  ;  she  wished  to  ex- 
hibit me  to  the  eyes  of  all  Paris  as  her  sposo.  She 
employed  her  powers  of  seduction  to  keep  me  under 
her  roof,  for  she  was  not  content  with  a  rumored  scan- 
dal which,  for  want  of  proof,  was  only  whispered  behind 
the  fans.  Seeing  her  so  happy  in  committing  an  impru- 
dence which  frankly  admitted  her  position,  how  could  I 
help  believing  in  her  love  ? 

But  no  sooner  was  I  plunged  into  the  comforts  of 
illegal  marriage  than  despair  seized  upon  me ;  I  saw 
my  life  bound  to  a  course  in  direct  defiance  of  the  ideas 
and  the  advice  given  me  by  Henriette.  Thenceforth  I 
lived  in  the  sort  of  rage  we  find  in  consumptive  patients 
who,  knowing  their  end  is  near,  cannot  endure  that 
their  lungs  should  be  examined.  There  was  no  corner 
in  my  heart  where  I  could  fly  to  escape  suffering ;  an 
avenging  spirit  filled  me  incessantly  with  thoughts  on 
which  I  dared  not  dwell.  My  letters  to  Henriette  de- 
picted this  moral  malady  and  did  her  infinite  harm.  "  At 
the  cost  of  so  many  treasures  lost,  I  wished  you  to  be  at 
least  happy,"  she  wrote  in  the  only  answer  I  received. 
But  I  was  not  happ}r.  Dear  Natalie,  happiness  is  abso- 
lute ;  it  allows  of  no  comparisons.  My  first  ardor  over, 
I  necessarily  compared  the  two  women,  —  a  contrast  I 
had  never  3-et  studied.  In  fact,  all  great  passions  press 
so  strongly  on  the  character  that  at  first  they  check  its 
asperities  and  cover  the  track  of  habits  which  constitute 
our  defects  and  our  better  qualities.  But  later,  when 
two  lovers  are  accustomed  to  each  other,  the  features 
of  their  moral  physiognomies  reappear ;  they  mutually 
judge   each   other,  and   it   often   happens  during  this 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  287 

reaction  of  the  character  after  passion,  that  natural 
antipathies  leading  to  disunion  (which  superficial  people 
seize  upon  to  accuse  the  human  heart  of  instabilit}') 
come  to  the  surface.  This  period  now  began  with  me. 
Less  blinded  by  seductions,  and  dissecting,  as  it  were, 
my  pleasure,  I  undertook,  without  perhaps  intending  to 
do  so,  a  critical  examination  of  Lady  Dudley  which 
resulted  to  her  injury. 

In  the  first  place,  I  found  her  wanting  in  the  qualities 
of  mind  which  distinguish  Frenchwomen  and  make  them 
so  delightful  to  love ;  as  all  those  who  have  had  the 
opportunity  of  loving  in  both  countries  declare.  When 
a  Frenchwoman  loves  she  is  metamorphosed  ;  her  noted 
coquetiy  is  used  to  deck  her  love ;  she  abandons  her 
dangerous  vanity  and  lays  no  claim  to  an}T  merit  but 
that  of  loving  well.  She  espouses  the  interests,  the 
hatreds,  the  friendships,  of  the  man  she  loves ;  she 
acquires  in  a  da}T  the  experience  of  a  man  of  business  ; 
she  studies  the  code,  she  comprehends  the  mechanism 
of  credit,  and  could  manage  a  banker's  office  ;  naturally 
heedless  and  prodigal,  she  will  make  no  mistakes  and 
waste  not  a  single  louis.  She  becomes,  in  turn,  mother, 
adviser,  doctor,  giving  to  all  her  transformations  a 
grace  of  happiness  which  reveals,  in  its  every  detail, 
her  infinite  love.  She  combines  the  special  qualities  of 
the  women  of  other  countries  and  gives  unity  to  the 
mixture  by  her  wit,  that  truly  French  product,  which  en- 
livens, sanctions,  justifies,  and  varies  all,  thus  relieving 
the  monotony  of  a  sentiment  which  rests  on  a  single 
tense  of  a  single  verb.  The  Frenchwoman  loves  al- 
wa}'s,  without  abatement  and  without  fatigue,  in  pub- 
lic or  in   solitude.     In  public  she  uses  a  tone  which 


288  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

has  meaning  for  one  only  ;  she  speaks  by  silenee  ;  she 
looks  at  3011  with  lowered  eyelids.  If  the  occasion 
prevents  both  speech  and  look  she  will  use  the  sand 
and  write  a  word  with  the  point  of  her  little  foot ; 
her  love  will  find  expression  even  in  sleep ;  in  short, 
she  bends  the  world  to  her  love.  The  Englishwoman, 
on  the  contrar}-,  makes  her  love  bend  to  the  world. 
Educated  to  maintain  the  icy  manners,  the  Britannic 
and  egotistic  deportment  which  I  described  to  you. 
she  opens  and  shuts  her  heart  with  the  ease  of  a 
British  mechanism.  She  possesses  an  impenetrable 
mask,  which  she  puts  on  or  takes  off  phlegmatically. 
Passionate  as  an  Italian  when  no  eye  sees  her,  she 
becomes  coldly  dignified  before  the  world.  A  lover 
may  well  doubt  his  empire  when  he  sees  the  immobility 
of  face,  the  aloofness  of  countenance,  and  hears  the 
calm  voice,  with  which  an  Englishwoman  leaves  her 
boudoir.  Hypocrisy  then  becomes  indifference ;  she 
has  forgotten  all. 

Certainly  the  woman  who  can  lay  aside  her  love  like 
a  garment  may  be  thought  to  be  capable  of  changing  it. 
What  tempests  rise  in  the  heart  of  a  man,  stirred  by 
wounded  self-love,  when  he  sees  a  woman  taking  and 
dropping  and  again  picking  up  her  love  like  a  piece  of 
embroidery.  These  women  are  too  completely  mis- 
tresses of  themselves  ever  to  belong  wholly  to  you  ;  they 
are  too  much  under  the  influence  of  society  ever  to  let 
you  reign  supreme.  Where  a  Frenchwoman  comforts 
by  a  look,  or  betrays  her.  impatience  with  visitors  by 
witty  jests,  an  Englishwoman's  6ilence  is  absolute ;  it 
irritates  the  soul  and  frets  the  mind.  These  women 
are   so   constant^,  and,  under  all  circumstances,  on 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  289 

their  dignity,  that  to  most  of  them  fashion  reigns  omni- 
potent even  over  their  pleasures.  An  Englishwoman 
forces  everything  into  form ;  though  in  her  case  the 
love  of  form  does  not  produce  the  sentiment  of  art. 
No  matter  what  may  be  said  against  it,  Protestantism 
and  Catholicism  explain  the  differences  which  make  the 
love  of  Frenchwomen  so  far  superior  to  the  calculating, 
reasoning  love  of  Englishwomen.  Protestantism  doubts, 
searches,  and  kills  belief;  it  is  the  death  of  art  and 
love.  Where  worldliness  is  all  in  all,  worldly  people 
must  needs  obey ;  but  passionate  hearts  flee  from  it ; 
to  them  its  laws  are  insupportable. 

You  can  now  understand  what  a  shock  mjT  self-love 
received  when  I  found  that  Lady  Dudley  could  not  live 
without  the  world,  and  that  the  English  S}'stem  of  two 
lives  was  familiar  to  her.  It  was  no  sacrifice  she  felt 
called  upon  to  make  ;  on  the  contranr  she  fell  naturally 
into  two  forms  of  life  that  were  inimical  to  each  other. 
When  she  loved  she  loved  madly,  —  no  woman  of  any 
country  could  be  compared  to  her ;  but  when  the  cur- 
tain fell  upon  that  fairy  scene  she  banished  even  the 
memory  of  it.  In  public  she  never  answered  to  a  look 
or  a  smile ;  she  was  neither  mistress  nor  slave ;  she 
was  like  an  ambassadress,  obliged  to  round  her  phrases 
and  her  elbows  ;  she  irritated  me  by  her  composure, 
and  outraged  my  heart  with  her  decorum.  Thus  she 
degraded  love  to  a  mere  need,  instead  of  raising  it  to 
the  ideal  through  enthusiasm.  She  expressed  neither 
fear,  nor  regrets,  nor  desire ;  but  at  a  given  hour  her 
tenderness  reappeared  like  a  fire  suddenly  lighted. 

In  which  of  these  two  women  ought  I  to  believe  ?  I 
felt,  as  it  were  by  a  thousand  pin-pricks,  the  infinite 

19 


290  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

differences  between  Henriette  and  Arabella.  When 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  left  me  for  a  while  she  seemed  to 
leave  to  the  air  the  duty  of  reminding  me  of  her ;  the 
folds  of  her  gown  as  she  went  away  spoke  to  the  eye, 
as  their  undulating  sound  to  the  ear  when  she  returned  ; 
infinite  tenderness  was  in  the  wa}r  she  lowered  her  e}Te- 
lids  and  looked  on  the  ground  ;  her  voice,  that  musical 
voice,  was  a  continual  caress ;  her  words  expressed  a 
constant  thought;  she  was  always  like  unto  herself; 
she  did  not  halve  her  soul  to  suit  two  atmospheres,  one 
ardent,  the  other  ic}T.  In  short,  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
reserved  her  mind  and  the  flower  of  her  thought  to 
express  her  feelings ;  she  was  coquettish  in  ideas  with 
her  children  and  with  me.  But  Arabella's  mind  was 
never  used  to  make  life  pleasant ;  it  was  never  used  at 
all  for  my  benefit ;  it  existed  only  for  the  world  and 
by  the  world,  and  it  was  spent  in  sarcasm.  She  loved 
to  rend,  to  bite,  as  it  were,  — not  for  amusemei  t  but 
to  satisfy  a  craving.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  would  have 
hidden  her  happiness  from  every  eye,  Lad}-  Dudle}' 
chose  to  exhibit  hers  to  all  Paris ;  and  yet  with  her 
impenetrable  English  mask  she  kept  within  conventions 
even  while  parading  in  the  Bois  with  me.  This  mixture 
of  ostentation  and  dignit}- ,  love  and  coldness,  wounded 
me  constantly ;  for  my  soul  was  both  virgin  and  pas- 
sionate, and  as  I  could  not  pass  from  one  temperature 
to  the  other,  nry  temper  suffered.  When  I  complained 
(never  without  precaution),  she  turned  her  tongue  with 
its  triple  sting  against  me  ;  mingling  boasts  of  her  love 
with  those  cutting  Er  -h  sarcasms.  As  sc:n  as  she 
found  herself  in  oppo.  to  me,  she  made  it  an  amuse- 

ment to  hurt  my  feelings  and  humiliate  my  mind  ;  she 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  291 

kneaded  me  like  dough.  To  any  remark  of  mine  as  to 
keeping  a  medium  in  all  things,  she  replied  by  carica- 
turing my  ideas  and  exaggerating  them.  When  I  re- 
proached her  for  her  manner  to  me,  she  asked  if  I 
wished  her  to  kiss  me  at  the  opera  before  all  Paris ; 
and  she  said  it  so  seriously  that  I,  knowing  her  desire 
to  make  people  talk,  trembled  lest  she  should  execute 
her  threat.  In  spite  of  her  real  passion  she  was  never 
meditative,  self-contained,  or  reverent,  like  Henriette ; 
on  the  contrary  she  was  insatiable  as  a  sandy  soil. 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  alwa}'S  composed,  able  to 
feel  my  soul  in  an  accent  or  a  glance.  Lady  Dudley 
was  never  affected  by  a  look,  or  a  pressure  of  the  hand, 
nor  yet  by  a  tender  word.  No  proof  of  love  surprised 
her.  She  felt  so  strong  a  necessity  for  excitement, 
noise,  celebrit}r,  that  nothing  attained  to  her  ideal  in 
this  respect;  hence  her  violent  love,  her  exaggerated 
fancy}  —  everything  concerned  herself  and  not  me. 

The  letter  you  have  read  from  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
(a  light  which  still  shone  brightly  on  my  life) ,  a  proof 
of  how  the  most  virtuous  of  women  obeyed  the  genius 
of  a  Frenchwoman,  revealing,  as  it  did,  her  perpetual 
vigilance,  her  sound  understanding  of  all  my  prospects 
—  that  letter  must  have  made  you  see  with  what  care 
Henriette  had  studied  my  material  interests,  m}T  politi- 
cal relations,  my  moral  conquests,  and  with  what  ardor 
she  took  hold  of  my  life  in  all  permissible  directions.  On 
such  points  as  these  Ladjr  Dudley  affected  the  reticence 
of  a  mere  acquaintance.  She  never  informed  herself 
about  my  affairs,  nor  of  my  likings  or  dislikings  as  a 
man.  Prodigal  for  herself  without  being  generous,  she 
separated  too  decidedly  self-interest  and  love.   Whereas 


292  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

I  knew  very  well,  without  proving  it,  that  to  save  me 
a  pang  Henriette  would  have  sought  for  me  that  which 
she  would  never  seek  for  herself.  In  an}'  great  and 
overwhelming  misfortune  I  should  have  gone  for  coun- 
sel to  Henriette,  but  I  would  have  let  mj-self  be  dragged 
to  prison  sooner  than  sa}'  a  word  to  Lady  Dudley. 

Up  to  this  point  the  contrast  relates  to  feelings  ;  but 
it  was  the  same  in  outward  things.  In  France,  luxury 
is  the  expression  of  the  man,  the  reproduction  of  his 
ideas,  of  his  personal  poetrjT ;  it  portrays  the  char- 
acter, and  gives,  between  lovers,  a  precious  value  to 
every  little  attention  by  keeping  before  them  the  domi- 
nant thought  of  the  being  loved.  But  English  luxunr, 
which  at  first  allured  me  by  its  choiceness  and  delieac}', 
proved  to  be  mechanical  also.  The  thousand  and  one  at- 
tentions shown  me  at  Clochegourde  Arabella  would  have 
considered  the  business  of  servants ;  each  one  had  his 
own  duty  and  speciahy.  The  choice  of  the  footman 
was  the  business  of  her  butler,  as  if  it  were  a  matter 
of  horses.  She  never  attached  herself  to  her  servants  ; 
the  death  of  the  best  of  them  would  not  have  affected 
her,  for  money  could  replace  the  one  lost  by  another 
equally  efficient.  As  to  her  duty  towards  her  neighbor, 
I  never  saw  a  tear  in  her  eye  for  the  misfortunes  of  an- 
other ;  in  fact  her  selfishness  was  so  naively  candid  that 
it  absolutely  created  a  laugh.  The  crimson  draperies 
of  the  great  lady  covered  an  iron  nature.  The  delight 
ful  siren  who  sounded  at  night  every  bell  of  her  amorous 
folly  could  soon  make  a  young  man  forget  the  hard  and 
unfeeling  Englishwoman,  and  it  was  only  step  by  step 
that  I  discovered  the  stony  rock  on  which  my  seeds 
were  wasted,  bringing  no  harvest.     Madame  de  Mort- 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  293 

eauf  had  penetrated  that  nature  at  a  glance  in  their 
1  rief  encounter.  I  remembered  her  prophetic  words. 
She  was  right ;  Arabella's  love  became  intolerable  to 
me.  I  have  since  remarked  that  most  women  who  ride 
well  on  horseback  have  little  tenderness.  Like  the 
Amazons,  they  lack  a  breast ;  their  hearts  are  hard  in 
some  direction,  but  I  do  not  know  in  which. 

At  the  moment  when  I  began  to  feel  the  burden  of 
the  yoke,  when  weariness  took  possession  of  soul  and 
body  too,  when  at  last  I  comprehended  the  sanctity  that 
true  feeling  imparts  to  love,  when  memories  of  Cloche- 
gourde  were  bringing  me,  in  spite  of  distance,  the  fra- 
grance of  the  roses,  the  warmth  of  the  terrace,  and  the 
warble  of  the  nightingales,  —  at  this  frightful  moment, 
when  I  saw  the  stony  bed  beneath  me  as  the  waters 
of  the  torrent  receded,  I  received  a  blow  which  still  re- 
sounds in  ray  heart,  for  at  every  hour  its  echo  wakes. 

I  was  working  in  the  cabinet  of  the  king,  who  was  to 
drive  out  at  four  o'clock.  The  Due  de  Lenoncourt  was 
on  service.  When  he  entered  the  room  the  king  asked 
him  news  of  the  countess.  I  raised  m3T  head  hastily  in 
too  eager  a  manner;  the  king,  offended  by  the  action, 
gave  me  the  look  which  always  preceded  the  harsh 
words  he  knew  so  well  how  to  say. 

44  Sire,  my  poor  daughter  is  dying,"  replied  the  duke. 

"  Will  the  king  deign  to  grant  me  leave  of  ab- 
sence?" I  cried,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  braving  the 
anger  which  I  saw  about  to  burst. 

44  Go,  my  lord"  he  answered,  smiling  at  the  satire 
in  his  words,  and  withholding  his  reprimand  in  favor 
of  his  own  wit. 

More  courtier  than  father,  the  duke  asked  no  leave 


294  The  Lily  of  the   Valley, 

but  got  into  the  carriage  with  the  king.  I  started  with- 
out bidding  Lady  Dudle}7  good-by  ;  she  was  fortunately 
out  when  I  made  my  preparations,  and  I  left  a  note 
telling  her  I  was  sent  on  a  mission  by  the  king.  At 
the  Croix  de  Berny  I  met  his  Majesty  returning  from 
Verrieres.  He  threw  me  a  look  full  of  his  royal  irony, 
always  insufferable  in  meaning,  which  seemed  to  say : 
"If  you  mean  to  be  anything  in  politics  come  back; 
don't  parley  with  the  dead."  The  duke  waived  his 
hand  to  me  sadly.  The  two  pompous  equipages  with 
their  eight  horses,  the  Colonels  and  their  gold  lace,  the 
escort  and  the  clouds  of  dust  rolled  rapidly  away,  to 
cries  of  "  Vive  le  Roi!"  It  seemed  to  me  that  the 
court  had  driven  over  the  dead  body  of  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  with  the  utter  insensibility  which  nature  shows 
for  our  catastrophes.  Though  the  duke  was  an  excel- 
lent man  he  would  no  doubt  play  whist  with  Monsieur 
after  the  king  had  retired.  As  for  the  duchess,  she 
had  long  ago  given  her  daughter  the  first  stab  b}^  writ- 
ing to  her  of  Lady  Dudley. 

M3'  hurried  journey  was  like  a  dream,  —  the  dream  of 
a  ruined  gambler ;  I  was  in  despair  at  having  received 
no  news.  Had  the  confessor  pushed  austerity  so  far  as 
to  exclude  me  from  Clochegourde  ?  I  accused  Made- 
leine, Jacques,  the  Abbe  Dominis,  all,  even  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf.  Beyond  Tours,  as  I  came  down  the  road 
bordered  with  poplars  which  leads  to  Poncher,  which  I 
so  much  admired  that  first  day  of  my  search  for  mine 
Unknown,  I  met  Monsieur  Origet.  He  guessed  that  I 
was  going  to  Clochegourde ;  I  guessed  that  he  was  re- 
turning. We  stopped  our  carriages  and  got  out,  I  to 
ask  for  news,  he  to  give  it. 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  295 

"  How  is  Madame  de  Mortsauf  ?  "  I  said. 

" 1  doubt  if  you  find  her  living,"  he  replied.  "  She  is 
dying  a  frightful  death  —  of  inanition.  When  she 
called  me  in,  last  June,  no  medical  power  could  control 
the  disease  ;  she  had  the  symptoms  which  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  has  no  doubt  described  to  you,  for  he  thinks 
he  has  them  himself.  Madame  la  comtesse  was  not  in 
any  transient  condition  of  ill-health,  which  our  profession 
can  direct  and  which  is  often  the  cause  of  a  better  state, 
nor  was  she  in  the  crisis  of  a  disorder  the  effects  of 
which  can  be  repaired  ;  no,  her  disease  had  reached  a 
point  where  science  is  useless  ;  it  is  the  incurable  result 
of  grief,  just  as  a  mortal  wound  is  the  result  of  a  stab. 
Her  physical  condition  is  produced  by  the  inertia  of  an 
organ  as  necessar}7  to  life  as  the  action  of  the  heart 
itself.  Grief  has  done  the  work  of  a  dagger.  Don't 
deceive  yourself;  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is  dying  of  some 
hidden  grief." 

"  Hidden!"  I  exclaimed.  "  Her  children  have  not 
been  ill?" 

"No,"  he  said,  looking  at  me  significantly,  "and 
since  she  has  been  so  seriously  attacked  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  has  ceased  to  torment  her.  I  am  no  longer 
heeded;  Monsieur  Deslandes  of  Azay  is  all-sufficient; 
nothing  can  be  done ;  her  sufferings  are  dreadful. 
Young,  beautiful,  and  rich,  to  die  emaciated,  shrunken 
with  hunger —  for  she  dies  of  hunger !  During  the  last 
forty  days  the  stomach,  being  as  it  were  closed  up,  has 
rejected  all  nourishment,  under  whatever  form  we 
attempt  to  give  it." 

Monsieur  Origet  pressed  my  hand  with  a  gesture  of 
respect. 


296  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

"  Courage,  'monsieur,"  he  said,  lifting  his  eyes  to 
heaven. 

The  words  expressed  his  compassion  for  sufferings  he 
thought  shared ;  he  little  suspected  the  poisoned  arrow 
which  they  shot  into  my  heart.  I  sprang  into  the  car- 
riage and  ordered  the  postilion  to  drive  on,  promising 
a  good  reward  if  I  arrived  in  time. 

Notwithstanding  m}*  impatience  I  seemed  to  do  the 
distance  in  a  few  minutes,  so  absorbed  was  I  in  the 
bitter  reflections  that  crowded  upon  my  soul.  Dying  of 
grief, 3*et  her  children  were  well?  then  she  died  through 
me  !  My  conscience  uttered  one  of  those  arraignments 
which  echo  throughout  our  lives  and  sometimes  bej'ond 
them.  What  weakness,  what  impotence  in  human 
justice,  which  avenges  none  but  open  deeds !  Why 
shame  and  death  to  the  murderer  who  kills  with  a  blow, 
who  comes  upon  you  unawares  in  3'our  sleep  and 
makes  it  last  eternally,  who  strikes  without  warning  and 
spares  you  a  struggle  ?  Why  a  happy  life,  an  honored 
life,  to  the  murderer  who  drop  by  drop  pours  gall  into 
the  soul  and  saps  the  body  to  destroy  it?  How  many 
murderers  go  unpunished !  What  indulgence  for 
fashionable  vice !  What  condoning  of  the  homicides 
caused  by  moral  wrongs  !  I  know  not  whose  avenging 
hand  it  was  that  suddenly,  at  that  moment,  raised 
the  painted  curtain  that  conceals  society.  I  saw  before 
me  many  victims  known  to  }*ou  and  me,  —  Madame  de 
BeausC'ant,  dying,  and  starting  for  Normand}7  onty  a  few 
days  earlier ;  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  lost ;  Lady 
Brandon  hiding  herself  in  Touraine  in  the  little  house 
where  Lady  Dudley  had  stayed  two  weeks,  and  dying 
there,  killed    by  a  frightful  catastrophe,  —  you  know 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  297 

it.  Our  period  teems  with  such  events.  Who  does 
not  remember  that  poor  young  woman  who  poisoned 
herself,  overcome  b}T  jealousy,  which  was  perhaps  killing 
Madame  de  Mortsauf?  Who  has  not  shuddered  at  the 
fate  of  that  enchanting  }Toung  girl  who  perished  after 
two  years  of  marriage,  like  a  flower  torn  by  the  wind, 
the  victim  of  her  chaste  ignorance,  the  victim  of  a 
villain  with  whom  Ronquerolles,  Montriveau,  and  de 
Marsay  shake  hands  because  he  is  useful  to  their 
political  projects?  What  heart  has  failed  to  throb  at 
the  recital  of  the  last  hours  of  the  woman  whom  no 
entreaties  could  soften,  and  who  would  never  see  her 
husband  after  nobly  pa3*ing  his  debts?  Madame 
d'Aiglemontr  saw  death  beside  her  and  was  saved  only 
by  n^  brother's  care.  Society  and  science  are  ac- 
complices in  crimes  for  which  there  are  no  assizes.  The 
world  declares  that  no  one  dies  of  grief,  or  of  despair ; 
nor  yet  of  love,  of  anguish  hidden,  of  hopes  cultivated 
3*et  fruitless,  again  and  again  replanted  yet  forever  up- 
rooted. Our  new  scientific  nomenclature  has  plenty  of 
words  to  explain  these  things  ;  gastritis,  pericarditis,  all 
the  thousand  maladies  of  women  the  names  of  which 
are  whispered  in  the  ear,  all  serve  as  passports  to  the 
coffin  followed  by  hypocritical  tears  that  are  soon  wiped 
by  the  hand  of  a  notary.  Can  there  be  at  the  bottom 
of  this  great  evil  some  law  which  we  do  not  know? 
Must  the  centenary  pitilessly  strew  the  earth  with 
corpses  and  dry  them  to  dust  about  him  that  he  may 
raise  himself,  as  the  millionaire  battens  on  a  in}'riad  of 
little  industries?  Is  there  some  powerful  and  veno- 
mous life  which  feasts  on  these  gentle,  tender  creatures  ? 
My  God  !  do  I  belong  to  the  race  of  tigers  ? 


298  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

Remorse  gripped  1113'  heart  in  its  scorching  fingers, 
and  iny  cheeks  were  furrowed  with  tears  as  I  entered 
the  avenue  of  Clochegourde  on  a  damp  October  morn- 
ing, which  loosened  the  dead  leaves  of  the  poplars 
planted  by  Henriette  in  the  path  where  once  she  stood 
and  waved  her  handkerchief  as  if  to  recall  me.  Was 
she  living?  Why  did  I  feel  her  two  white  hands  upon 
my  head  laid  prostrate  in  the  dust?  In  that  moment  I 
paid  for  all  the  pleasures  Arabella  had  given  me,  and 
I  knew  that  I  paid  dearly.  I  swore  not  to  see  her 
again,  and  a  hatred  of  England  took  possession  of  me. 
Though  Lady  Dudley  was  only  a  variety  of  her  species, 
I  included  all  Englishwomen  in  my  judgment. 

I  received  a  fresh  shock  as  I  neared  Clochegourde. 
Jacques,  Madeleine,  and  the  Abbo  Dominis  were  kneel- 
ing at  the  foot  of  a  wooden  cross  placed  on  a  piece  of 
ground  that  was  taken  into  the  enclosure  when  the  iron 
gate  was  put  up,  which  the  count  and  countess^  had 
never  been  willing  to  remove.  I  sprang  from  the  car- 
riage and  went  towards  them,  my  heart  aching  at  the 
sight  of  these  children  and  that  grave  old  man  implor- 
ing the  merc}r  of  God.  The  old  huntsman  was  there 
too,  with  bared  head,  standing  a  little  apart. 

I  stooped  to  kiss  Jacques  and  Madeleine,  who  gave 
me  a  cold  look  and  continued  praying.  The  abbe  rose 
from  his  knees  ;  I  took  him  03'  the  arm  to  support  my- 
self, saying,  "  Is  she  still  alive?"  He  bowed  his  head 
sadly  and  gently.  "  Tell  me,  I  implore  you  for  Christ's 
sake,  why  are  you  praying  at  the  foot  of  this  cross? 
Why  are  30U  here,  and  not  with  her?  Why  are  the 
children  kneeling  here  this  chilty  morning?  Tell  me 
all,  that  I  may  do  no  harm  through  ignorance." 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  299 

"  For  the  last  few  days  Madame  la  comtesse  has 
been  unwilling  to  see  her  children  except  at  stated 
times.  —  Monsieur,"  he  continued  after  a  pause,  • "  per- 
haps 3'ou  had  better  wait  a  few  hours  before  seeing 
Madame  de  Mortsauf ;  she  is  greatly  changed.  It  is 
necessary  to  prepare  her  for  this  interview,  or  it  might 
cause  an  increase  of  her  sufferings  —  death  would  be  a 
blessed  release  from  them." 

I  wrung  the  hand  of  the  good  man,  whose  look  and 
voice  soothed  the  pangs  of  others  without  sharpening 
them. 

44  We  are  praying  God  to  help  her,"  he  continued; 
"  for  she,  so  saintty,  so  resigned,  so  fit  to  die,  has  shown 
during  the  last  few  weeks  a  horror  of  death  ;  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  looks  at  others  who  are  full  of  health 
with  gloomy,  envious  eyes.  This  aberration  comes  less, 
I  think,  from  the  fear  of  death  than  from  some  inward 
intoxication,  —  from  the  flowers  of  her  youth  which 
ferment  as  they  wither.  Yes,  an  evil  angel  is  striving 
against  heaven  for  that  glorious  soul.  She  is  passing 
through  her  struggle  on  the  Mount  of  Olives  ;  her  tears 
bathe  the  white  roses  of  her  crown  as  the}'  fall,  one  by 
one,  from  the  head  of  this  wedded  Jephtha.  Wait ;  do 
not  see  her  yet.  You  would  bring  to  her  the  atmosphere 
of  the  court ;  she  would  see  in  your  face  the  reflection 
of  the  things  of  life,  and  you  would  add  to  the  bit- 
terness of  her  regret.  Have  pity  on  a  weakness  which 
God  himself  forgave  to  his  Son  when  he  took  our  nature 
upon  him.  What  merit  would  there  be  in  conquering 
if  we  had  no  adversary  ?  Permit  her  confessor  or  me, 
two  old  men  whose  worn-out  lives  cause  her  no  pain,  to 
prepare  her  for  this  unlooked-for  meeting,  for  emotions 


300  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

which  the  Abbe  Birotteau  has  required  her  to  renounce. 
But,  in  the  things  of  this  world  there  is  an  invisible 
thread  of  divine  purpose  which  religion  alone  can  see ; 
and  since  3*011  have  come  perhaps  you  are  led  by  some 
celestial  star  of  the  moral  world  which  leads  to  the  tomb 
as  to  the  manger  —  " 

He  then  told  me,  with  that  tempered  eloquence  which 
falls  like  dew  upon  the  heart,  that  for  the  last  six 
months  the  countess  had  suffered  daily  more  and  more, 
in  spite  of  Monsieur  Origet's  care.  The  doctor  had 
come  to  Clochegourde  every  evening  for  two  months, 
striving  to  rescue  her  from  death ;  for  her  one  crj-  had 
been,  "  Oh,  save  me  !  "  "To  heal  the  body  the  heart 
must  first  be  healed,"  the  doctor  had  exclaimed  one 
day. 

"  As  the  illness  increased,  the  words  of  this  poor  wo- 
man, once  so  gentle,  have  grown  bitter,"  said  the  Abbe. 
"  She  calls  on  earth  to  keep  her,  instead  of  asking  God 
to  take  her ;  tlien  she  repents  these  murmurs  against 
the  divine  decree.  Such  alternations  of  feeling  rend  her 
heart  and  make  the  struggle  between  body  and  soul 
most  horrible.  Often  the  body  triumphs.  i  You  have 
cost  me  dear/  she  said  one  day  to  Jacques  and  Made- 
leine ;  but  in  a  moment,  recalled  to  God  by  the  look  on 
my  face,  she  turned  to  Madeleine  with  these  angelic 
words,  '  The  happiness  of  others  is  the  joy  of  those 
who  cannot  themselves  be  happy,'  —  and  the  tone  with 
which  she  said  them  brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes.  She 
falls,  it  is  true,  but  each  time  that  her  feet  stumble  she 
rises  higher  towards  heaven." 

Struck  by  the  tone  of  the  successive  intimations  chance 
had  sent  me,  and  which  in  this  great  concert  of  misfor- 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  301 

tunes  were  like  a  prelude  of  mournful  modulations  to  a 
funereal  theme,  the  mighty  cry  of  expiring  love,  I  cried 
out:  "  Surely  you  believe  that  this  pure  lily  cut  from 
earth  will  flower  in  heaven  ?  " 

14  You  left  her  still  a  flower,"  he  answered,  "  but  you 
will  find  her  consumed,  purified  by  the  fires  of  suffering, 
pure  as  a  diamond  buried  in  the  ashes.  Yes,  that  shin- 
ing soul,  angelic  star,  will  issue  glorious  from  the  clouds 
and  pass  into  the  kingdom  of  the  Light." 

As  I  pressed  the  hand  of  the  good  evangelist,  my 
heart  overflowing  with  gratitude,  the  count  put  his  head, 
now  entirely  white,  out  of  the  door  and  immediately 
sprang  towards  me  with  signs  of  surprise. 

"  She  was  right !  He  is  here  !  *  Felix,  Felix,  Felix 
has  come  ! '  she  kept  crying.  My  dear  friend,"  he  con- 
tinued, beside  himself  with  terror,  u  death  is  here.  Why 
did  it  not  take  a  poor  madman  like  me  with  one  foot  in 
the  grave  ?  " 

I  walked  towards  the  house  summoning  my  courage, 
but  on  the  threshold  of  the  long  antechamber  which 
crossed  the  house  and  led  to  the  lawn,  the  Abbe 
Birotteau   stopped   me. 

"Madame  la  comtesse  begs  jtou  will  not  enter  at 
present,"  he  said  to  me. 

Giving  a  glance  within  the  house  I  saw  the  servants 
coming  and  going,  all  bus}T,  all  dumb  with  grief,  sur- 
prised perhaps  by  the  orders  Manette  gave  them. 

44  What  has  happened?  "  cried  the  count,  alarmed  b}T 
the  commotion,  as  much  from  fear  of  the  coming  event 
as  from  the  natural  uneasiness  of  his  character. 

44  Only  a  sick  woman's  fancy,"  said  the  abbe.  "  Ma- 
dame la  comtesse  does  not  wish  to  receive  monsieur  le 


302  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

vicomte  as  she  now  is.  She  talks  of  dressing ;  why 
thwart  her?" 

Manette  came  in  search  of  Madeleine,  whom  I  saw 
leave  the  house  a  few  moments  after  she  had  entered 
her  mother's  room.  We  were  all,  Jacques  and  his 
father,  the  two  abbes  and  I,  silently  walking  up  and 
down  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house.  I  looked  first  at 
Montbazon  and  then  at  Azay,  noticing  the  seared  and 
yellow  valley  which  answered  in  its  mourning  (as  it  ever 
did  on  all  occasions)  to  the  feelings  of  my  heart.  Sud- 
denly I  beheld  the  dear  "  mignonne  "  gathering  the 
autumn  flowers,  no  doubt  to  make  a  bouquet  at  her 
mother's  bidding.  Thinking  of  all  which  that  signified, 
I  was  so  convulsed  within  me  that  I  staggered,  my 
sight  was  blurred,  and  the  two  abbes,  between  whom 
I  walked,  led  me  to  the  wall  of  a  terrace,  where  I 
sat  for  some  time  completely  broken  down  but  not 
unconscious. 

"  Poor  Felix,"  said  the  count,  "  she  forbade  me  to 
write  to  3Tou.     She  knew  how  much  you  loved  her." 

Though  prepared  to  suffer,  I  found  I  had  no  strength 
to  bear  a  scene  which  recalled  my  memories  of  past  hap- 
piness. "  Ah  !  "  I  thought,  "  I  see  it  still,  that  barren 
moor,  dried  like  a  skeleton,  lit  b}r  a  gray  skj*,  in  the 
centre  of  which  grew  a  single  flowering  bush,  which 
again  and  again  I  looked  at  with  a  shudder,  —  the 
forecast  of  this  mournful  hour  !  " 

All  was  gloom  in  the  little  castle,  once  so  animated, 
so  full  of  life.  The  servants  were  weeping ;  despair 
and  desolation  everywhere.  The  paths  were  not  raked, 
work  was  begun  and  left  undone,  the  workmen  standing 
idly  about  the  house.     Though  the  grapes  were  being 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  303 

gathered  in  the  vineyard,  not  a  sound  reached  us.  The 
place  seemed  uninhabited,  so  deep  the  silence !  We 
walked  about  like  men  whose  grief  rejects  all  ordinary 
topics,  and  we  listened  to  the  count,  the  only  one  of  us 
who  spoke. 

After  a  few  words  prompted  by  the  mechanical  love 
he  felt  for  his  wife  he  was  led  by  the  natural  bent  of 
his  mind  to  complain  of  her.  She  had  never,  he  said, 
taken  care  of  herself  or  listened  to  him  when  he  gave 
her  gdbd  advice.  He  had  been  the  first  to  notice  the 
symptoms  of  her  illness,  for  he  had  studied  them  in  his 
own  case  ;  he  had  fought  them  and  cured  them  without 
other  assistance  than  careful  diet  and  the  avoidance 
of  all  emotion.  He  could  have  cured  the  countess, 
but  a  husband  ought  not  to  take  so  much  responsibility 
upon  himself,  especially  when  he  has  the  misfortune 
of  finding  his  experience,  in  this  as  in  everything, 
despised.  In  spite  of  all  he  could  say,  the  countess 
insisted  on  sending  for  Origet,  —  Origet,  who  had  man- 
aged his  case  so  ill,  was  now  killing  his  wife.  If 
this  disease  was,  as  they  said,  the  result  of  exces- 
sive grief,  surely  he  was  the  one  who  had  been  in 
a  condition  to  have  it.  What  griefs  could  the  coun- 
tess have  had?  She  was  alwaj's  happy ;  she  had 
never  had  troubles  or  anno}Tances.  Their  fortune, 
thanks  to  his  care  and  to  his  sound  ideas,  was  now 
in  a  most  satisfactory  state  ;  he  had  always  allowed 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  to  reign  at  Clochegourde ;  her 
children,  well  trained  and  now  well  in  health,  gave 
her  no  anxiet}*, —  where,  then,  did  this  grief  they 
talked  of  come  from  ?  " 

Thus  he  argued  and  discussed  the  matter,  mingling 


304  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

his  expressions  of  despair  with  senseless  accusations. 
Then,  recalled  by  some  sudden  memory  to  the  ad- 
miration which  he  felt  for  his  wife,  tears  rolled  from 
his  eyes  which  had  been  dry  so  long. 

Madeleine  came  to  tell  me  that  her  mother  was 
ready.  The  Abbe  Birotteau  followed  me.  Madeleine, 
now  a  grave  young  girl,  stayed  with  her  father,  saying 
that  the  countess  desired  to  be  alone  with  me,  and 
also  that  the  presence  of  too  many  persons  would 
fatigue  her.  The  solemnity  of  this  moment  gave  me 
that  sense  of  inward  heat  and  outward  cold  which 
overcomes  us  often  in  the  great  events  of  life.  The 
Abbe  Birotteau,  one  of  those  men  whom  God  marks 
for  his  own  by  investing  them  with  sweetness  and 
simplicity,  together  with  patience  and  compassion,  took 
me  aside. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  you  to  know  that 
I  have  done  all  in  my  power  to  prevent  this  meet- 
ing. The  salvation  of  this  saint  required  it.  I  have 
considered  her  only,  and  not  }*ou.  Now  that  3-ou  are 
about  to  see  her  to  whom  access  ought  to  have  been 
denied  you  by  the  angels,  let  me  say  that  I  shall 
be  present  to  protect  you  against  yourself  and  perhaps 
against  her.  Respect  her  weakness.  I  do  not  ask 
this  of  you  as  a  priest,  but  as  a  humble  friend  whom 
37ou  did  not  know  you  had,  and  who  would  fain  save 
you  from  remorse.  Our  dear  patient  is  dying  of  hun- 
ger and  thirst.  Since  morning  she  is  a  victim  to 
the  feverish  irritation  which  precedes  that  horrible 
death,  and  I  cannot  conceal  from  you  how  deeply 
she  regrets  life.  The  cries  of  her  rebellious  flesh 
are   stifled    in   nry   heart  —  where   they   wake    echoes 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  305 

of  a  wound  still  tender.  But  Monsieur  de  Dominis 
and  I  accept  this  dut}r  that  we  may  spare  the  sight 
of  this  moral  anguish  to  her  family ;  as  it  is,  they 
no  longer  recognize  their  star  by  night  and  by  day 
in  her;  they  all,  husband,  children,  servants,  all  are 
asking,  '  Where  js  she?'  —  she  is  so  changed!  When 
she  sees  you,  her  regrets  will  revive.  Lay  aside 
your  thoughts  as  a  man  of  the  world,  forget  its  van- 
ities, be  to  her  the  auxiliary  of  heaven,  not  of  earth. 
Pray  God  that  this  dear  saint  die  not  in  a  moment 
of  doubt,  giving  voice  to  her  despair." 

I  did  not  answer.  My  silence  alarmed  the  poor  con- 
fessor. I  saw,  I  heard,  I  walked,  and  yet  I  was  no 
longer  on  the  earth.  The  thought  "In  what  state 
shall  I  find  her?  Wiry  do  they  use  these  precautions?" 
gave  rise  to  apprehensions  which  were  the  more  cruel 
because  so  indefinite ;  all  forms  of  suffering  crowded 
my  mind. 

We  reached  the  door  of  the  chamber  and  the  abbe 
opened  it.  I  then  saw  Henriette.  dressed  in  white, 
sitting  on  her  little  sofa  which  was  placed  before  the 
fireplace,  on  which  were  two  vases  filled  with  flowers  ; 
flowers  were  also  on  a  table  near  the  window.  The  ex- 
pression of  the  abbe's  face,  which  was  that  of  amaze- 
ment at  the  change  in  the  room,  now  restored  to  its 
former  state,  showed  me  that  the  dying  woman  had  sent 
away  the  repulsive  preparations  which  surround  a  sick- 
bed. She  had  spent  the  last  waning  strength  of  fever 
in  decorating  her  room  to  receive  him  whom  in  that 
final  hour  she  loved  above  all  things  else.  Surrounded 
by  clouds  of  lace,  her  shrunken  face,  which  had  the 
greenish  pallor  of  a  magnolia  flower  as  it  opens,  re- 

20 


306  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

sembled  the  first  outline  of  a  cherished  head  drawn  in 
chalks  upon  the  yellow  canvas  of  a  portrait.  To 
feel  how  deeply  the  vulture's  talons  now  buried  them- 
selves in  nvy  heart,  imagine  the  eyes  of  that  outlined 
face  finished  and  full  of  life,  —  hollow  eyes  which  shone 
with  a  brilliancy  unusual  in  a  dying  person.  The  calm 
majesty  given  to  her  in  the  past  03*  her  constant  victory 
over  sorrow  was  there  no  longer.  Her  forehead,  the 
only  part  of  her  face  which  still  kept  its  beautiful  propor- 
tions, wore  an  expression  of  aggressive  will  and  covert 
threats.  In  spite  of  the  waxy  texture  of  her  elongated 
face,  inward  fires  were  issuing  from  it  like  the  fluid  mist 
which  seems  to  flame  above  the  fields  of  a  hot  da}\  Her 
hollow  temples,  her  sunken  cheeks  showed  the  interior 
formation  of  the  face,  and  the  smile  upon  her  whitened 
lips  vaguely  resembled  the  grin  of  death.  Her  robe, 
which  was  folded  across  her  breast,  showed  the  emacia- 
tion of  her  beautiful  figure.  The  expression  of  her  head 
said  plainly  that  she  knew  she  was  changed,  and  that  the 
thought  filled  her  with  bitterness.  She  was  no  longer 
the  arch  Henriette,  nor  the  sublime  and  saintty  Madame 
de  Mortsauf,  but  the  nameless  something  of  Bossuet 
struggling  against  annihilation,  driven  to  the  selfish  bat- 
tle of  life  against  death  by  hunger  and  balked  desire.  I 
took  her  hand,  which  was  dry  and  burning,  to  kiss  it, 
as  I  seated  myself  beside  her.  She  guessed  my  sorrow- 
ful surprise  from  the  very  effort  that  I  made  to  hide  it. 
Her  discolored  lips  drew  up  from  her  famished  teeth 
trying  to  form  a  smile,  — the  forced  smile  with  which  we 
strive  to  hide  either  the  irony  of  vengeance,  the  expec- 
tation of  pleasure,  the  intoxication  of  our  souls,  or  the 
fury  of  disappointment. 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  307 

"Ah,  my  poor  Felix,  this  is  death,"  she  said,  "  and 
yon  do  not  like  death  ;  odious  death,  of  which  every 
human  creature,  even  the  boldest  lover,  feels  a  horror. 
This  is  the  end  of  love  ;  I  knew  it  would  be  so.  Lady 
Dudley  will  never  see  you  thus  surprised  at  the  change 
in  her.  Ah!  why  have  I  so  longed  for  you,  Felix? 
You  have  come  at  last,  and  I  reward  your  devotion  by 
the  same  horrible  sight  that  made  the  Comte  de  Ranee 
a  Trappist.  I,  who  hoped  to  remain  ever  beautiful  and 
noble  in  your  memoiy,  to  live  there  eternally  a  lily,  I 
it  is  who  destroy  your  illusions  !  True  love  cannot  cal- 
culate. But  stay ;  do  not  go,  stay.  Monsieur  Origet 
said  I  was  much  better  this  morning ;  I  shall  recover. 
Your  looks  will  bring  me  back  to  life.  When  I  regain  a 
little  strength,  when  I  can  take  some  nourishment,  I 
shall  be  beautiful  again.  I  am  scarcely  thirty-five,  there 
are  many  jrears  of  happiness  before  me, — happiness 
renews  our  3'outh  ;  }'es,  I  must  know  happiness  !  I  have 
made  delightful  plans,  —  we  will  leave  Clochegourde 
and  go  to  Italy." 

Tears  filled  m}T  eyes  and  I  turned  to  the  window  as  if 
to  look  at  the  flowers.  The  abbe  followed  me  hastily, 
and  bending  over  the  bouquet  whispered,  "  No  tears  !  " 

"  Henriette,  do  you  no  longer  care  for  our  dear  val- 
ley." I  said,  as  if  to  explain  m}-  sudden  movement. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  said,  turning  her  forehead  to  my  lips 
with  a  fond  motion.  "  But  without  }'ou  it  is  fatal  to 
me,  —  without  thee,"  she  added,  putting  her  burning 
lips  to  my  ear  and  whispering  the  words  like  a  sigh. 

I  was  horror-struck  at  the  wild  caress,  and  my  will 
was  not  strong  enough  to  repress  the  nervous  agitation 
I  felt  throughout  this  scene.     I  listened  without  reply  ; 


308  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

or  rather  I  replied  by  a  fixed  smile  and  signs  of  com- 
prehension ;  wishing  not  to  thwart  her,  but  to  treat  her 
as  a  mother  does  a  child.  Struck  at  first  with  the 
change  in  her  person,  I  now  perceived  that  the  woman, 
once  so  dignified  in  her  bearing,  showed  in  her  attitude, 
her  voice,  her  manners,  in  her  looks  and  her  ideas,  the 
naive  ignorance  of  a  child,  its  artless  graces,  its  eager 
movements,  its  careless  indifference  to  everything  that 
is  not  its  own  desire, —  in  short  all  the  weaknesses  which 
commend  a  child  to  our  protection.  Is  it  so  with  all 
dying  persons?  Do  they  strip  off  social  disguises  till 
they  are  like  children  who  have  never  put  them  on?  Or 
was  it  that  the  countess  feeling  herself  on  the  borders 
of  eternitj7,  rejected  every  human  feeling  except  love? 

"You  will  bring  me  to  health  as  yoxx  used  to  do, 
Felix,"  she  said,  "  and  our  valley  will  still  be  my  bless- 
ing. How  can  I  help  eating  what  you  will  give  me? 
You  are  such  a  good  nurse.  Besides,  you  are  so  rich  in 
health  and  vigor  that  life  is  contagious  beside  you.  My 
friend,  prove  to  me  that  I  need  not  die  —  die  blighted. 
They  think  my  worst  suffering  is  thirst.  Oh,  yes,  my 
thirst  is  great,  dear  friend.  The  waters  of  the  Indre  are 
terrible  to  see  ;  but  the  thirst  of  my  heart  is  greater  far. 
I  thirsted  for  thee,"  she  said  in  a  smothered  voice,  tak- 
ing my  hands  in  hers,  which  were  burning,  and  drawing 
me  close  that  she  might  whisper  in  my  ear.  "  My 
anguish  has  been  in  not  seeing  thee  !  Did  you  not  bid 
me  live  ?  I  will  live ;  I  too  will  ride  on  horseback ; 
I   will   know  life,  Paris,    fetes,   pleasures,  all !  * 

Ah  !  Natalie,  that  awful  cry  —  which  time  and  distance 
render  cold  —  rang  in  the  ears  of  the  old  priest  and  in 
mine  ;  the  tones  of  that  glorious  voice  pictured  the  t)at- 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  309 

ties  of  a  lifetime,  the  anguish  of  a  true  love  lost.  The 
countess  rose  with  an  impatient  movement  like  that  of  a 
child  which  seeks  a  plaything.  When  the  confessor  saw 
her  thus  the  poor  man  fell  upon  his  knees  and  prayed 
with  clasped  hands. 

"  Yes,  to  live !  "  she  said,  making  me  rise  and  sup- 
port her  ;  "  to  live  wjt,h  realities  and  not-with  delusions. 
All  has  been  delusion  in  my  life  ;  I  have  counted  them 
up,  these  lies,  these  impostures  !  How  can  I  die,  I  who 
have  never  lived  ?  I  who  have  never  roamed  a  moor  to 
meet  him  ! "  She  stopped,  seemed  to  listen,  and  to 
smell  some  odor  through  the  walls.  "  Felix,  the  vin- 
tagers are  dining,  and  I,  I,"  she  said,  in  the  voice  of  a 
child,  "I,  the  mistress,  am  hungiy.  It  is  so  in  love,  — 
they  are  happy,  thej7,  they  !  —  " 

"  Kyrie  eleison ! "  said  the  poor  abbs,  who  with 
clasped  hands  and  eyes  raised  to  heaven  was  reciting 
his  litanies. 

She  flung  an  arm  about  my  neck,  kissed  me  violently, 
and  pressed  me  to  her,  saying,  "  You  shall  not  escape 
me  now  ! "  She  gave  the  little  nod  with  which  in  for- 
mer days  she  used,  when  leaving  me  for  an  instant,  to 
say  she  would  return.  "  We  will  dine  together,"  she 
said ;  "  I  will  go  and  tell  Manette."  She  turned  to 
go,  but  fainted ;  and  I  laid  her,  dressed  as  she  was, 
upon  the  bed. 

"You  carried  me  thus  before,"  she  murmured, 
opening  her  eyes. 

She  was  very  light,  but  burning  ;  as  I  took  her  in  my 
arms  I  felt  the  heat  of  her  body.  Monsieur  Deslandes 
entered  and  seemed  surprised  at  the  decoration  of  the 
room  ;  but  seeing  me,  all  was  explained  to  him. 


310  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

"  We  must  suffer  much  to  die/'  she  said  in  a  changed 
voice. 

The  doctor  sat  down  and  felt  her  pulse,  then  he  rose 
quickly  and  said  a  few  words  in  a  low  voice  to  the 
priest,  who  left  the  room  beckoning  me  to  follow  him. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  I  said  to  the  doctor. 

44  Save  her  from  intolerable  agony,"  he  replied. 
"  Who  could  have  believed  in  so  much  strength?  We 
cannot  understand  how  she  can  have  lived  in  this  state 
so  long.  This  is  the  forty-second  day  since  she  has 
either  eaten  or  drunk." 

Monsieur  Deslandes  called  for  Manette.  The  Abbe 
Birotteau  took  me  to  the  gardens. 

uLet  us  leave  her  to  the  doctor,"  he  said ;  "with 
Manette's  help  he  will  wrap  her  in  opium.  Well,  you 
have  heard  her  now  —  if  indeed  it  is  she  herself." 

"  No,"  I  said,  *'  it  is  not  she." 

I  was  stupefied  with  grief.  I  left  the  grounds  by  the 
little  gate  of  the  lower  terrace  and  went  to  the  punt, 
in  which  I  hid  to  be  alone  with  my  thoughts.  I 
tried  to  detach  myself  from  the  being  in  which  I  lived, 
—  a  torture  like  that  with  which  the  Tartars  punish 
adultery  by  fastening  a  limb  of  the  guilty  man  in  a  piece 
of  wood  and  leaving  him  a  knife  to  cut  it  off  if  he  would 
not  die  of  hunger.  My  life  was  a  failure,  too !  De- 
spair suggested  many  strange  ideas  to  me.  Sometimes 
I  vowed  to  die  beside  her;  sometimes  to  bury  myself  at 
Meilleraye  among  the  Trappists.  I  looked  at  the  win- 
dows of  the  room  where  Henriette  was  dying,  fancying 
I  saw  the  light  that  was  burning  there  the  night  I 
betrothed  my  soul  to  hers.  Ah  !  ought  I  not  to  have 
followed  the  simple  life  she  had  created  for  me,  keep- 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  311 

ing  myself  faithfully  to  her  while  I  worked  in  the 
world  ?  Had  she  not  bidden  me  become  a  great  man  ex- 
pressly that  I  might  be  saved  from  base  and  shameful 
passions  ?  Chastit}7 !  was  it  not  a  sublime  distinction 
which  I  had  not  known  how  to  keep?  Love,  as  Arabella 
understood  it,  suddenly  disgusted  me.  As  I  raised  my 
humbled  head  asking  m}'self  where,  in  future,  I  could 
look  for  light  and  hope,  what  interest  could  hold  me  to 
life,  the  air  was  stirred  by  a  slight  noise.  I  turned  to 
the  terrace  and  there  saw  Madeleine  walking  alone,  with 
slow  steps.  During  the  time  it  took  me  to  ascend  the 
terrace,  intending  to  ask  the  dear  child  the  reason  of 
the  cold  look  she  had  given  me  when  kneeling  at  the 
foot  of  the  cross,  she  had  seated  herself  on  the  bench. 
"When  she  saw  me  approach  her,  she  rose,  pretending 
not  to  have  seen  me,  and  returned  towards  the  house 
in  a  significantly  hasty  manner.  She  hated  me ;  she 
fled  fi'om  her  mother's  murderer. 

When  I  reached  the  portico  I  saw  Madeleine  like  a 
statue,  motionless  and  erect,  evidently  listening  to  the 
sound  of  in}'  steps.  Jacques  was  sitting  in  the  portico. 
His  attitude  expressed  the  same  insensibility  to  what 
was  going  on  about  him  that  I  had  noticed  when  I  first 
saw  him  ;  it  suggested  ideas  such  as  we  lay  aside  in 
some  corner  of  our  mind  to  take  up  and  study  at  our 
leisure.  I  have  remarked  that  young  persons  who  carry 
death  within  them  are  usually  unmoved  at  funerals.  I 
longed  to  question  that  gloomy  spirit.  Had  Madeleine 
kept  her  thoughts  to  herself,  or  had  she  inspired  Jacques 
with  her  hatred  ? 

"You  know,  Jacques,"  I  said,  to  begin  the  conversa- 
tion, "  that  in  me  you  have  a  most  devoted  brother." 


312  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

"  Your  friendship  is  useless  to  me  ;  I  shall  follow  my 
mother,"  he  said,  giving  me  a  sullen  look  of  pain. 

14  Jacques  !  "  I  cried,  "  you,  too,  against  me?" 

He  coughed  and  walked  away  ;  when  he  returned  he 
showed  me  his  handkerchief  stained  with  blood. 

"  Do  3rou  understand  that?  "  he  said. 

Thus  they  had  each  of  them  a  fatal  secret.  I  saw 
before  long  that  the  brother  and  sister  avoided  each 
other.  Henriette  laid  low,  all  was  in  ruins  at  Cloche- 
gourde. 

"Madame  is  asleep,"  Manette  came  to  sa}T,  quite 
happy  in  knowing  that  the  countess  was  out  of  pain. 

In  these  dreadful  moments,  though  each  person  knows 
the  inevitable  end,  strong  affections  fasten  on  such 
minor  joys.  Minutes  are  centuries  which  we  long  to 
make  restorative ;  we  wish  our  dear  ones  to  lie  on 
roses,  we  pray  to  bear  their  sufferings,  we  cling  to 
the  hope  that  their  last  moment  may  be  to  them 
unexpected. 

"  Monsieur  Deslandes  has  ordered  the  flowers  taken 
away  ;  they  excited  Madame's  nerves,"  said  Manette. 

Then  it  was  the  flowers  that  caused  her  delirium  ;  she 
herself  was  not  a  part  of  it. 

"Come,  Monsieur  Felix,"  added  Manette,  "come 
and  see  Madame  ;  she  is  beautiful  as  an  angel." 

I  returned  to  the  dying  woman  just  as  the  setting 
sun  was  gilding  the  lace-work  on  the  roofs  of  the  chateau 
of  Azay.  All  was  calm  and  pure.  A  soft  light  lit  the 
bed  on  which  my  Henriette  was  lying,  wrapped  in 
opium.  The  bod}7  was,  as  it  were,  annihilated  ;  the 
soul  alone  reigned,  on  that  face,  serene  as  the  skies 
when  the  tempest  is  over.     Blanche  and  Henriette,  two 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  313 

sublime  faces  of  the  same  woman,  reappeared  ;  all  the 
more  beautiful  because  mj'  recollection,  my  thought,  my 
imagination,  aiding  nature,  repaired  the  devastation  of 
each  dear  feature,  where  now  the  soul  triumphant  sent 
its  gleams  through  the  calm  pulsations  of  her  breathing. 
The  two  abbes  were  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The 
count  stood,  as  though  stupefied  by  the  banners  of 
death  which  floated  above  that  adored  being.  I  took 
her  seat  on  the  sofa.  We  all  four  turned  to  each 
other  looks  in  which  admiration  for  that  celestial 
beauty  mingled  with  tears  of  mourning.  The  lights  of 
thought  announced  the  return  of  the  Divine  Spirit  to 
that  glorious  tabernacle. 

The  Abbe  Dominis  and  I  spoke  in  signs,  communi- 
cating to  each  other  our  mutual  ideas.  Yes,  the  angels 
were  watching  her !  yes,  their  flaming  swords  shone 
above  that  noble  brow,  which  the  august  expression  of 
her  virtue  made,  as  it  were,  a  visible  soul  conversing  with 
the  spirits  of  its  sphere.  The  lines  of  her  face  cleared  ; 
all  in  her  was  exalted  and  became  majestic  beneath 
the  unseen  incense  of  the  seraphs  who  guarded  her. 
The  green  tints  of  bodily  suffering  gave  place  to  pure 
white  tones,  the  cold  wan  pallor  of  approaching  death. 
Jacques  and  Madeleine  entered.  Madeleine  made  us 
quiver  by  the  adoring  impulse  which  flung  her  on  her 
knees  beside  the  bed,  crying  out,  with  clasped  hands : 
M  My  mother!  here  is  my  mother!  "  Jacques  smiled  ; 
he  knew  he  would  follow  her  where  she  went. 

"  She  is  entering  the  haven,"  said  the  Abbe  Birotteau. 

The  Abbe  Dominis  looked  at  me  as  if  to  say : 
"  Did  I  not  tell  you  the  star  would  rise  in  all  its 
slorv  ?  " 


V 


r 


314  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

Madeleine  knelt  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  mother, 
breathing  when  she  breathed,  listening  to  the  soft 
breath,  the  last  thread  hy  which  she  held  to  life, 
and  which  we  followed  in  terror,  fearing  that  every 
effort  of  respiration  might  be  the  last.  Like  an  angel 
at  the  gates  of  the  sanctuary,  the  young  girl  was  eager 
yet  calm,  strong  but  reverent.  At  that  moment  the 
Angelus  rang  from  the  village  clock-tower.  Waves  of 
tempered  air  brought  its  reverberations  to  remind  us 
that  this  was  the  sacred  hour  when  Christianity  repeats 
the  words  said  by  the  angel  to  the  woman  who  has  re- 
deemed the  faults  of  her  sex.  Ave  Maria  !  —  surely,  at 
this  moment  the  words  were  a  salutation  from  heaven. 
The  prophecy  was  so  plain,  the  event  so  near  that  we 
burst  into  tears.  The  murmuring  sounds  of  evening, 
melodious  breezes  in  the  leafage,  last  warbling  of  the 
birds,  the  hum  and  echo  of  the  insects,  the  voices  of  the 
waters,  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  tree-frog,- —  all  country 
things  were  bidding  farewell  to  the  loveliest  lily  of  the 
valley,  to  her  simple,  rural  life.  The  religious  poesy 
of  the  hour,  now  added  to  that  of  Nature,  expressed  so 
vividly  the  psalm  of  the  departing  soul  that  our  sobs 
redoubled. 

Though  the  door  of  the  chamber  was  open  we  were 
all  so  plunged  in  contemplation  of  the  scene,  as  if  to 
imprint  its  memories  forever  on  our  souls,  that  we  did 
not  notice  the  family  servants  who  were  kneeling  in  a 
group  and  praying  fervently.  These  poor  people, 
living  on  hope,  had  believed  their  mistress  might  be 
spared,  and  this  plain  warning  overcame  them.  At  a 
sign  from  the  Abbe  Birotteau  the  old  huntsman  went  to 
fetch  the  curate  of  Sache.     The  doctor,  standing  by  the 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  315 

bed,  calm  as  science,  and  holding  the  hand  of  the  still 
sleeping  woman,  had  made  the  confessor  a  sign  to  say 
that  this  sleep  was  the  only  hour  without  pain  which  re- 
mained for  the  recalled  angel.  The  moment  had  come 
to  administer  the  last  sacraments  of  the  Church.  At 
nine  o'clock  she  awoke  quieth',  looked  at  us  with  sur- 
prised but  gentle  e3~es,  and  we  beheld  our  idol  once 
more  in  all  the  beauty  of  former  days. 

M  Mother!  you  are  too  beautiful  to  die  —  life  and 
health  are  coming  back  to  you  !  "  cried  Madeleine. 

"Dear  daughter,  I  shall  live  —  in  thee,"  she  an- 
swered, smiling. 

Then  followed  heart-rending  embraces  of  the  mother 
and  her  children.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  kissed  his 
wife  upon  her  brow.     She  colored  when  she  saw  me. 

"Dear  Felix,"  she  said,  "  this  is,  I  think,  the  only 
grief  that  I  shall  ever  have  caused  ypu.  Forget  all  that 
I  may  have  said,  —  I,  a  poor  creature  much  beside 
myself."  She  held  out  her  hand  ;  I  took  it  and  kissed 
it.  Then  she  said,  with  her  chaste  and  gracious  smile, 
4 l  As  in  the  old  days,  Felix?  " 

We  all  left  the  room  and  went  into  the  salon  during 
the  last  confession.  I  approached  Madeleine.  In  pres- 
ence of  others  she  could  not  escape  me  without  a  breach 
of  civility ;  but,  like  her  mother,  she  looked  at  no  one, 
and  kept  silence  without  even  once  turning  her  eyes  in 
my  direction. 

*4  Dear  Madeleine,"  I  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  What 
have  you  against  me?  Whjr  do  you  show  such  cold- 
ness in  the  presence  of  death,  which  ought  to  reconcile 
us  all." 

"  I  hear  in  my  heart  what  my  mother  is  saying  at 


316  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

this  moment,"  she  replied,  with  the  look  which  Ingres 
gave  to  his  "Mother  of  God,"  —  that  virgin,  already 
sorrowful,  preparing  herself  to  protect  the  world  for 
which  her  son  was  about  to  die. 

44  And  you  condemn  me  at  the  moment  when  30111- 
mother  absolves  me,  —  if  indeed  I  am  guilty." 

"  You,  you"  she  said,  "  always  your  selff" 

The  tones  of  her  voice  revealed  the  determined 
hatred  of  a  Corsican,  implacable  as  the  judgments 
of  those  who,  not  having  studied  life,  admit  of  no 
extenuation  of  faults  committed  against  the  laws  of 
the  heart. 

An  hour  went  by  in  deepest  silence.  The  Abbe  Birot- 
teau  came  to  us  after  receiving  the  countess's  general 
confession,  and  we  followed  him  back  to  the  room  where 
Henriette,  under  one  of  those  impulses  which  often  come 
to  noble  minds,  all  sisters  of  one  intent,  had  made  them 
dress  her  in  the  long  white  garment  which  was  to  b*e 
her  shroud.  We  found  her  sitting  up ;  beautiful  from 
expiation,  beautiful  in  hope.  I  saw  in  the  fireplace  the 
black  ashes  of  my  letters  which  had  just  been  burned,  a 
sacrifice  which,  as  her  confessor  afterwards  told  me, 
she  had  not  been  willing  to  make  until  the  hour  of  her 
death.  She  smiled  upon  us  all  with  the  smile  of  other 
da}*s.  Her  eyes,  moist  with  tears,  gave  evidence  of 
inward  lucidity  ;  she  saw  the  celestial  joys  of  the  prom- 
ised land. 

"  Dear  Felix,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand  and 
pressing  mine,  "  stay  with  us.  You  must  be  present 
at  the  last  scene  of  my  life,  not  the  least  painful  among 
many  such,  but  one  in  which  you  are  concerned." 

She  made  a  sign  and  the  door  was  closed.     At  her 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  317 

request  the  count  sat  down  ;  the  Abbe  Birotteau  and  I 
remained  standing.  Then  with  Manette's  help  the 
countess  rose  and  knelt  before  the  astonished  count, 
persisting  in  remaining  there.  A  moment  after,  when 
Manette  had  left  the  room,  she  raised  her  head  which 
she  had  laid  upon  her  husband's  knees. 

"  Though  I  have  been  a  faithful  wife  to  you,"  she 
said,  in  a  faint  voice,  "I  have  sometimes  failed  in  my 
duty.  I  have  just  prayed  to  God  to  give  me  strength 
to  ask  your  pardon.  I  have  given  to  a  friendship  out- 
side of  my  family  more  affectionate  care  than  I  have 
shown  to  you.  Perhaps  I  have  sometimes  irritated  you 
by  the  comparisons  you  may  have  made  between  these 
cares,  these  thoughts,  and  those  I  gave  to  you.  I  have 
had,"  she  said,  in  a  sinking  voice,  "  a  deep  friendship, 
which  no  one,  not  even  he  who  has  been  its  object,  has 
fully  known.  Though  I  have  continued  virtuous  ac- 
cording to  all  human  laws,  though  I  have  been  an  irre- 
proachable wife  to  you,  still  other  thoughts,  voluntary  or 
involuntary,  have  often  crossed  m}r  mind  and,  in  this 
hour,  I  fear  I  have  welcomed  them  too  warmly.  But  as 
I  have  tenderly  loved  you,  and  continued  to  be  }our 
submissive  wife,  and  as  the  clouds  passing  beneath  the 
sk}T  do  not  alter  its  purity,  I  now  pray  for  your  blessing 
with  a  clean  heart.  I  shall  die  without  one  bitter 
thought  if  I  can  hear  from  j-our  lips  a  tender  word  for 
your  Blanche,  for  the  mother  of  your  children,  —  if  I 
know  that  you  forgive  her  those  things  for  which  she 
did  not  forgive  herself  till  reassured  by  the  great 
tribunal  which  pardons  all." 

"  Blanche,  Blanche  !  "  cried  the  broken  man,  shed- 
ding tears  upon  his  wife's  head,  "  Would  you  kill  me?  " 


318  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

He  raised  her  with  a  strength  unusual  to  him,  kissed 
her  solemnly  on  the  forehead,  and  thus  holding  her  con- 
tinued :  "  Have  I  no  forgiveness  to  ask  of  you?  Have 
I  never  been  harsh?  Are  you  not  making  too  much  of 
3*our  girlish  scruples?" 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said.  "  But,  dear  friend,  indulge  the 
weakness  of  a  dying  woman ;  tranquillize  xny  mind. 
When  you  reach  this  hour  you  will  remember  that  I 
left  }'ou  with  a  blessing.  Will  }*ou  grant  me  permission 
to  leave  to  our  friend  now  here  that  pledge  of  my 
affection?  "  she  continued,  showing  a  letter  that  was  on 
the  mantelshelf.  "  He  is  now  m}-  adopted  son,  and  that 
is  all.  The  heart,  dear  friend,  makes  its  bequests ;  my 
last  wishes  impose  a  sacred  duty  on  that  dear  Felix.  I 
think  I  do  not  put  too  great  a  burden  on  him  ;  grant  that 
I  do  not  ask  too  much  of  you  in  desiring  to  leave  him 
these  last  words.  You  see,  I  am  always  a  woman," 
she  said,  bending  her  head  with  mournful  sweetness ; 
"after  obtaining  pardon  I  ask  a  gift —  Read  this," 
she  added,  giving  me  the  letter;  "  but  not  until  after 
my  death." 

The  count  saw  her  color  change ;  he  lifted  her  and 
carried  her  himself  to  the  bed,  where  we  all  surrounded 
her. 

"  Felix,"  she  said,  "  I  may  have  done  some  wrong  to 
3-011.  Often  I  gave  }Tou  pain  by  letting  3'ou  hope  for 
that  I  could  not  give  you  ;  but  see,  it  was  that  very 
courage  of  wife  and  mother  that  now  enables  me  to 
die  forgiven  of  all.  You  will  forgive  me  too ;  3011  who 
have  so  often  blamed  me,  and  whose  injustice  was  so 
dear  —  " 

The  Abbe  Birotteau  laid  a  finger  on  his  lips.     At 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  319 

that  sign  the  dying  woman  bowed  her  head,  faintness 
overcame  her ;  presently  she  waved  her  hands  as  if 
summoning  the  clergy  and  her  children  and  the  servants 
to  her  presence,  and  then,  with  an  imploring  gesture, 
she  showed  me  the  desolate  count  and  the  children 
beside  him.  The  sight  of  that  father,  the  secret  of 
whose  insanity  was  known  to  us  alone,  now  to  be  left 
sole  guardian  of  those  delicate  beings,  brought  mute 
entreaties  to  her  face,  which  fell  upon  my  heart  like 
sacred  fire.  Before  receiving  extreme  unction  she  asked 
pardon  of  her  servants  if  by  a  hasty  word  she  had  some- 
times hurt  them  ;  she  asked  their  pikers  and  com- 
mended each  one,  individually,  to  the  count ;  she  nobly 
confessed  that  during  the  last  two  months  she  had 
uttered  complaints  that  were  not  Christian  and  might 
have  shocked  them ;  she  had  repulsed  her  children  and 
clung  to  life  unworthily ;  but  she  attributed  this  failure 
of  submission  to  the  will  of  God  to  her  intolerable 
sufferings.  Finally,  she  publicly  thanked  the  Abbe 
Birotteau  with  heartfelt  warmth  for  having  shown  her 
the  illusion  of  all  earthly  things.  * 

When  she  ceased  to  speak,  prayers  were  said  again, 
and  the  curate  of  Sadie  gave  her  the  viaticum.  A  few 
moments  later  her  breathing  became  difficult ;  a  film 
overspread  her  eyes,  but  soon  the}'  cleared  again ;  she 
gave  me  a  last  look  and  died  to  the  eyes  of  earth,  hear- 
ing perhaps  the  symphony  of  our  sobs.  As  her  last  sigh 
issued  from  her  lips,  —  last  effort  of  a  life  that  was  one 
long  anguish,  —I  felt  a  blow  within  me  that  struck  on 
all  my  faculties.  The  count  and  I  remained  beside  the 
bier  all  night  with  the  two  abbes  and  the  curate,  watch- 
ing, in  the  glimmer  of  the  tapers,  the  bod}T  of  the  de- 


320  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

parted,  now  so  calm,  laid  upon  the  mattress  of  her  bed, 
where  once  she  had  suffered  cruelly.  It  was  my  first 
communion  with  death.  I  remained  the  whole  of  that 
night  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  Henriette,  spell-bound  by 
the  pure  expression  that  came  from  the  stilling  of  all 
tempests,  by  the  whiteness  of  that  face  where  still  I  saw 
the  traces  of  her  innumerable  affections,  although  it 
made  no  answer  to  my  love.  What  majesty  in  that 
silence,  in  that  coldness  !  How  man)'  thoughts  they  ex- 
pressed !  What  beauty  in  that  absolute  repose,  what 
power  in  that  immobility  !  All  the  past  was  there  and 
futurity  had  begun.  Ah  !  I  loved  her  dead  as  much  as 
I  had  loved  her  living.  In  the  morning  the  count 
went  to  bed  ;  the  three  wearied  priests  fell  asleep  in  that 
heav3r  hour  of  dawn  so  well  known  to  those  who  watch. 
I  could  then,  without  witnesses,  kiss  that  sacred  brow 
with  all  the  love  I  had  never  been  allowed  to  utter. 

The  third  day,  in  a  cool  autumn  morning,  we  fol- 
lowed the  countess  to  her  last  home.  She  was  carried 
by  the  old  huntsman,  the  two  Martineaus,  and  Manette's 
husband.  We  went  down  by  the  road  I  had  so  joyously 
ascended  the  day  I  first  returned  to  her.  We  crossed 
the  valle}T  of  the  Indre  to  the  little  cemetery  of  Sache  — 
a  poor  village  grave}rard,  placed  behind  the  church  on 
the  slope  of  the  hill,  where  with  true  humility  she  had 
asked  to  be  buried  beneath  a  simple  cross  of  black  wood, 
"like  a  poor  countiy-woman,"  she  said.  When  I  saw, 
from  the  centre  of  the  valley,  the  village  church  and 
the  place  of  the  grave3rard  a  convulsive  shudder  seized 
me.  Alas  !  we  have  all  our  Golgothas,  where  we  leave 
the  thiily-three  first  years  of  our  lives,  with  the  lance- 
wound  in  our  side,  the  crown  of  thorns  and  not  of  roses 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  321 

on  our  brow  —  that  hill-slope  was  to  me  the  mount  of 
expiation. 

We  were  followed  by  an  immense  crowd,  seeking 
to  express  the  grief  of  the  valley  where  she  had  silently 
buried  so  many  noble  actions.  Manette,  her  faithful 
woman,  told  me  that  when  her  savings  did  not  suf- 
fice to  help  the  poor  she  economized  upon  her  dress. 
There  were  babes  to  be  provided  for,  naked  children 
to  be  clothed,  mothers  succored  in  their  need,  sacks 
of  flour  bought  of  the  millers  in  winter  for  helpless 
old  men,  a  cow  sent  to  some  poor  home,  —  deeds 
of  a  Christian  woman,  a  mother,  and  the  lady  of 
the  manor.  Besides  these  things,  there  were  dowries 
paid  to  enable  loving  hearts  to  marry ;  substitutes 
bought  for  youths  to  whom  the  draft  had  brought 
despair,  tender  offerings  of  the  loving  woman  who  had 
said :  M  The  happiness  of  others  is  the  consolation 
of  those  who  cannot  themselves  be  happy."  Such 
things,  related  at  the  veillees,  made  the  crowd  im- 
mense. I  walked  with  Jacques  and  the  two  abbes 
behind  the  coffin.  According  to  custom  neither  the 
count  nor  Madeleine  were  present ;  they  remained 
alone  at  Clochegourde.  But  Manette  insisted  on  com- 
ing with  us.  "Poor  madame !  poor  madame !  she 
is  happy  now,"  I  heard  her  saying  to  herself  amid 
her  sobs. 

As  the  procession  left  the  road  to  the  mills  I 
heard  a  simultaneous  moan  and  a  sound  of  weeping 
as  though  the  valley  were  lamenting  for  its  soul. 
The  church  was  filled  with  people.  After  the  ser- 
vice was  over  we  went  to  the  graveyard  where  she 
wished   to   be  buried  near  the  cross.     When  I  heard 

21 


322  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

the  pebbles  and  the  gravel  falling  upon  the  coffin 
my  courage  gave  way ;  I  staggered  and  asked  the 
two  Martineaus  to  steady  me.  They  took  me,  half- 
dead,  to  the  chateau  of  Sache,  where  the  owners  very 
kindly  invited  me  to  stay,  and  I  accepted.  I  will 
own  to  you  that  I  dreaded  a  return  to  Clochegourde, 
and  it  was  equally  repugnant  to  me  to  go  to  Frapesle, 
where  I  could  see  my  Henriette's  windows.  Here, 
at  Sache,  I  was  near  her.  I  lived  for  some  days 
in  a  room  which  looked  on  the  tranquil,  solitary 
valley  I  have  mentioned  to  you.  It  is  a  deep  re- 
cess among  the  hills,  bordered  by  oaks  that  are  doubly 
centenarian,  through  which  a  torrent  rushes  after  rain. 
The  scene  was  in  keeping  with  the  stern  and  solemn 
meditations  to  which  I  desired  to  abandon  myself. 

I  had  perceived,  during  the  day  which  followed 
the  fatal  night,  how  unwelcome  my  presence  might 
become  at  Clochegourde.  The  count  had  gone  through 
violent  emotions  at  the  death  of  his  wife ;  but  he 
had  expected  the  event;  his  mind  was  made  up  to 
it  in  a  way  that  was  something  like  indifference.  I 
had  noticed  this  several  times,  and  when  the  countess 
gave  me  that  letter  (which  I  still  dared  not  read)  and 
when  she  spoke  of  her  affection  for  me,  I  remarked 
that  the  count,  usually  so  quick  to  take  offence,  made 
no  sign  of  feeling  any.  He  attributed  Henriette's 
words  to  the  extreme  sensitiveness  of  a  conscience 
which  he  knew  to  be  pure.  This  selfish  insensibility 
was  natural  to  him.  The  souls  of  these  two  beings 
were  no  more  married  than  their  bodies;  the}'  had 
never  had  the  intimate  communion  which  keeps  feel- 
ing alive ;    they   had  shared  neither  pains   nor  pleas- 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  323 

ures,  those  strong  links  which  tear  us  b}T  a  thousand 
edges  when  broken,  because  the}'  touch  on  all  our 
fibres,  and  are  fastened  to  the  inmost  recesses  of 
our  hearts. 

Another  consideration  forbade  my  return  to  Cloche- 
gourde,  —  Madeleine's  hostility.  That  hard  young  girl 
was  not  disposed  to  modify  her  hatred  beside  her 
mother's  coffin.  Between  the  count,  who  would  have 
talked  to  me  incessantly  of  himself,  and  the  new 
mistress  of  the  house,  who  would  have  shown  me  in- 
vincible dislike,  I  should  have  found  myself  horribly 
annoj-ed.  To  be  treated  thus  where  once  the  very 
flowers  welcomed  me,  where  the  steps  of  the  portico 
had  a  voice,  where  m}T  memory  clothed  with  poetry 
the  balconies,  the  fountains,  the  balustrades,  the  trees, 
the  glimpses  of  the  valley !  to  be  hated  where  I  once 
was  loved  —  the  thought  was  intolerable  to  me.  So, 
from  the  first,  my  mind  was  made  up. 

Alas !  alas !  was  this  the  end  of  the  keenest  love 
that  ever  entered  the  heart  of  man?  To  the  eyes  of 
strangers  my  conduct  might  be  reprehensible,  but  it 
had  the  sanction  of  my  own  conscience.  It  is  thus  that 
the  noblest  feelings,  the  sublimest  dramas  of  our  youth 
must  end.  We  start  at  dawn,  as  I  from  Tours  to 
Clochegourde,  we  clutch  the  world,  our  hearts  hungry 
for  love  ;  then,  when  our  treasure  is  in  the  crucible,  when 
we  mingle  with  men  and  circumstances,  all  becomes 
gradually  debased  and  we  find  but  little  gold  among 
the  ashes.  Such  is  life !  life  as  it  is  ;  great  preten- 
sions, small  realities.  I  meditated  long  about  myself, 
debating  what  I  could  do  after  a  blow  like  this  which 
had  mown  down  every  flower  of  my  soul.     I  resolved 


"1 


324  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

to  rush  into  the  science  of  politics,  into  the  labyrinth 
of  ambition,  to  cast  woman  from  mj'  life  and  to  make 
myself  a  statesman,  cold  and  passionless,  and  so  re- 
main true  to  the  saint  I  loved.  M3'  thoughts  wan- 
dered into  far-off  regions  while  my  eyes  were  fastened 
on  the  splendid  tapestry  of  the  yellowing  oaks,  the 
stern  summits,  the  bronzed  foothills.  I  asked  myself 
if  Henriette's  virtue  were  not,  after  all,  that  of  ig- 
norance, and  if  I  were  indeed  guilty  of  her  death. 
I  fought  against  remorse.  At  last,  in  the  sweetness 
of  an  autumn  midday,  one  of  those  last  smiles  of 
heaven  which  are  so  beautiful  in  Touraine,  I  read 
the  letter  which  at  her  request  I  was  not  to  open  be- 
fore her  death.     Judge  of  my  feelings  as  I  read  it. 

Madame    de    Mortsauf    to  the    Vicomte    Felix    de    Van- 

DENESSE  : 

Felix,  friend,  loved  too  well,  I  must  now  lay  bare 
my  heart  to  }'ou,  —  not  so  much  to  prove  my  love  as  to 
show  you  the  weight  of  obligation  you  have  incurred 
by  the  depth  and  gravity  of  the  wounds  you  have  in- 
flicted on  it.  At  this  moment,  when  I  sink  exhausted 
by  the  toils  of  life,  worn  out  by  the  shocks  of  its  battle, 
the  woman  within  me  is,  mercifully,  dead  ;  the  mother 
alone  survives.  Dear,  you  are  now  to  see  how  it  was 
that  you  were  the  original  cause  of  all  my  sufferings. 
Later,  I  willingly  received  your  blows ;  to-day  I  am 
dying  of  the  final  wound  your  hand  has  given,  —  but 
there  is  joy,  excessive  joy  in  feeling  mj'self  destroj'ed 
by  him  I  love. 

My  pln-sical  sufferings  will  soon  put  an  end  to  my 
mental  strength  ;  I  therefore  use  the  last  clear  gleams 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  325 

of  intelligence  to  implore  you  to  befriend  my  children 
and  replace  the  heart  of  which  you  have  deprived 
them.  I  would  solemnly  impose  this  duty  upon  you 
if  I  loved  you  less  ;  but  I  prefer  to  let  you  choose  it 
for  3'ourself  as  an  act  of  sacred  repentance,  and  also  in 
faithful  continuance  of  your  love  —  love,  for  us,  was  ever 
mingled  with  repentant  thoughts  and  expiatory  fears  ! 
but —  I  know  it  well  —  we  shall  forever  love  each  other. 
Your  wrong  to  me  was  not  so  fatal  an  act  in  itself  as 
the  power  which  I  let  it  have  within  me.  Did  I  not  tell 
you  I  was  jealous,  jealous  unto  death?  Well,  I  die  of 
it.  But,  be  comforted,  we  have  kept  all  human  laws. 
The  Church  has  told  me,  by  one  of  her  purest  voices, 
that  God  will  be  forgiving  to  those  who  subdue  their 
natural  desires  to  his  commandments.  My  beloved, 
you  are  now  to  know  all,  for  I  would  not  leave  you  in 
ignorance  of  an}T  thought  of  mine.  What  I  confide  to 
God  in  my  last  hour  you,  too,  must  know,  — you,  king 
of  my  heart  as  he  is  King  of  Heaven. 

Until  the  ball  given  to  the  Due  d'Angouleme  (the 
only  ball  at  which  I  was  ever  present),  marriage  had 
left  me  in  that  ignorance  which  gives  to  the  soul  of  a 
3'oung  girl  the  beaut}'  of  the  angels.  True,  I  was  a 
mother,  but  love  had  never  surrounded  me  with  its  per- 
mitted pleasures.  How  did  this  happen?  I  do  not 
know  ;  neither  do  I  know  by  what  law  everything  within 
me  changed  in  a  moment.  You  remember  your  kisses? 
the}'  have  mastered  my  life,  they  have  furrowed  my 
soul ;  the  ardor  of  your  blood  awoke  the  ardor  of  mine  ; 
3'our  youth  entered  my  youth,  your  desires  my  soul. 
When  I  rose  and  left  }tou  proudly  I  was  filled  with  an 
emotion  for  which  I  know  no  name  in  any  language  — 


326  .      The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

for  children  have  not  }'et  found  a  word  to  express  the 
marriage  of  their  e}*es  with  light,  nor  the  kiss  of  life  laid 
upon  their  lips.  Yes,  it  was  sound  coming  in  the  echo, 
light  flashing  through  the  darkness,  motion  shaking  the 
universe  ;  at  least,  it  was  rapid  like  all  these  things,  but 
far  more  beautiful,  for  it  was  the  birth  of  the  soul !  I 
comprehended  then  that  something,  I  knew  not  what, 
existed  for  me  in  this  world,  —  a  force  nobler  than 
thought ;  for  it  was  all  thoughts,  all  forces,  it  was  the 
future  itself  in  a  shared  emotion.  I  felt  I  was  but  half 
a  mother.  Falling  thus  upon  my  heart  this  thunderbolt 
awoke  desires  which  slumbered  there  without  my  knowl- 
edge ;  suddenly  I  divined  all  that  my  aunt  had  meant 
when  she  kissed  my  forehead,  murmuring,  "  Poor 
Henriette  !  " 

When  I  returned  to  Clochegourde,  the  springtime, 
the  first  leaves,  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers,  the  white 
and  fleecy  clouds,  the  Indre,  the  sky,  all  spoke  to  me  in 
a  language  till  then  unknown.  If  you  have  forgotten 
those  terrible  kisses,  I  have  never  been  able  to  efface 
them  from  my  memory,  —  I  am  dying  of  them  !  Yes, 
each  time  that  I  have  met  you  since,  their  impress  is 
revived.  I  was  shaken  from  head  to  foot  when  I  first 
saw  you  ;  the  mere  presentiment  of  your  coining  over- 
came me.  Neither  time  nor  my  firm  will  has  enabled 
me  to  conquer  that  imperious  sense  of  pleasure.  I  asked 
myself  involuntarily,  "What  must  be  such  jo}'s?" 
Our  mutual  looks,  the  respectful  kisses  you  laid  upon 
my  hand,  the  pressure  of  my  arm  on  yours,  your  voice 
with  its  tender  tones,  —  all,  even  the  slightest  things, 
shook  me  so  violently  that  clouds  obscured  my  sight ; 
the  murmur  of  rebellious  senses  filled  my  ears.     Ah  !  if 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  327 

in  those  moments  when  outwardly  I  increased  my  cold- 
ness you  had  taken  me  in  your  arms  I  should  have  died 
of  happiness.  Sometimes  I  desired  it,  but  prayer 
subdued  the  evil  thought.  Your  name  uttered  by  my 
children  filled  my  heart  with  warmer  blood,  which  gave 
color  to  my  cheeks ;  I  laid  snares  for  my  poor  Made- 
leine to  induce  her  to  say  it,  so  much  did  I  love  the 
tumults  of  that  sensation.  Ah !  what  shall  I  say  to 
you  ?  Your  writing  had  a  charm ;  I  gazed  at  3*our 
letters  as  we  look  at  a  portrait. 

If  on  that  first  day  you  obtained  some  fatal  power 
over  me,  conceive,  dear  friend,  how  infinite  that  power 
became  when  it  was  given  to  me  to  read  your  soul. 
What  delights  filled  me  when  I  found  }*ou  so  pure,  so 
absolutely  truthful,  gifted  with  noble  qualities,  capable 
of  noblest  things,  and  already  so  tried  !  Man  and  child, 
timid  3'et  brave  !  What  joy  to  find  we  both  were  con- 
secrated by  a  common  grief!  Ever  since  that  evening 
when  we  confided  our  childhoods  to  each  other,  I  have 
known  that  to  lose  you  would  be  death,  —  yes,  I  have 
kept  you  by  me  selfishty.  The  certainty  felt  by  Mon- 
sieur de  la  Berge  that  I  should  die  if  I  lost  3011  touched 
him  deeply,  for  he  read  my  soul.  He  knew  how  neces- 
sary I  was  to  my  children  and  the  count ;  he  did  not 
command  me  to  forbid  you  1113'  house,  for  I  promised 
to  continue  pure  in  deed  and  thought.  "  Thought,"  he 
said  to  me,  "  is  involuntan',  but  it  can  be  watched  even 
in  the  midst  of  anguish."  M  If  I  think,"  I  replied,  "  all 
will  be  lost ;  save  me  from  myself.  Let  him  remain 
beside  me  and  keep  me  pure !  "  The  good  old  man, 
though  stern,  was  moved  by  my  sincerit3\  "  Love  him 
as  you  would  a  son,  and  give  him  your  daughter,"  he 


328  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

said.  I  accepted  bravely  that  life  of  suffering  that  I 
might  not  lose  you,  and  I  suffered  joyfully,  seeing  that 
we  were  called  to  bear  the  same  yoke  —  My  God  !  I 
have  been  firm,  faithful,  to  nry  husband  ;  I  have  given 
you  no  foothold,  Felix,  in  your  kingdom.  The  gran- 
deur of  my  passion  has  reacted  on  my  character ;  I  have 
regarded  the  tortures  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  has  inflicted 
on  me  as  expiations  ;  I  bore  them  proudly  in  condemna- 
tion of  my  faulty  desires.  Formerly  I  was  disposed  to 
murmur  at  nr\r  life,  but  since  you  have  entered  it  I  have 
recovered  some  gayety,  and  this  has  been  the  better 
for  the  count.  Without  this  strength,  which  I  derived 
through  you,  I  should  long  since  have  succumbed  to  the 
inward  life  of  which  I  told  you. 

If  you  have  counted  for  much  in  the  exercise  of  my 
duty  so  have  my  children  also.  I  felt  I  had  deprived 
them  of  something,  and  I  feared  I  could  never  do  enough 
to  make  amends  to  them  ;  my  life  was  thus  a  continual 
struggle  which  I  loved.  Feeling  that  I  was  less  a 
mother,  less  an  honest  wife,  remorse  entered  my  heart; 
fearing  to  fail  in  my  obligations,  I  constantly  went 
beyond  them.  Often  have  I  put  Madeleine  between 
you  and  me,  giving  3011  to  each  other,  raising  barriers 
between  us,  —  barriers  that  were  powerless  !  for  what 
could  stifle  the  emotions  which  you  caused  me?  Ab- 
sent or  present,  you  had  the  same  power.  I  preferred 
Madeleine  to  Jacques  because  Madeleine  was  sometime 
to  be  yours.  But  I  did  not  yield  you  to  my  daughter 
without  a  struggle.  I  told  myself  that  I  was  only 
twenty-eight  when  I  first  met  you,  and  you  were  nearly 
twenty-two ;  I  shortened  the  distance  between  us ;  I 
gave  myself  up  to  delusive  hopes.      Oh,  Felix!     I  tell 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  329 

you  these  things  to  save  you.  from  remorse ;  also,  per- 
haps, to  show  you  that  I  was  not  cold  and  insensible, 
that  our  sufferings  were  cruelly  mutual ;  that  Arabella 
had  no  superiority  of  love  over  mine.  I  too  am  'the 
daughter  of  a  fallen  race,   such  as  men  love  well. 

There  came  a  moment  when  the  struggle  was  so  ter- 
rible that  I  wept  the  long  nights  through ;  my  hair  fell 
off,  —  3*011  have  it !  Do  you  remember  the  count's  ill- 
ness? Your  nobility  of  soul  far  from  raising  my  soul 
belittled  it.  Alas  !  I  dreamed  of  giving  myself  to  you 
some  da}r  as  the  reward  of  so  much  heroism  ;  but  the 
folly  was  a  brief  one.  I  laid  it  at  the  feet  of  God  dur- 
ing the  mass  that  day  when  3011  refused  to  be  with  me. 
Jacques'  illness  and  Madeleine's  sufferings  seemed  to 
me  the  warnings  of  God  calling  back  to  him  his  lost 
sheep. 

Then  your  love  —  which  is  so  natural  —  for  that 
Englishwoman  revealed  to  me  secrets  of  which  I  had  no 
knowledge.  I  loved  you  better  than  I  knew.  The  con- 
stant emotions  of  this  stormy  life,  the  efforts  that  I  made 
to  subdue  myself  with  no  other  succor  than  that  religion 
gave  me,  all,  all  has  brought  about  the  malady  of  which 
I  die.  The  terrible  shocks  I  have  undergone  brought 
on  attacks  about  which  I  kept  silence.  I  saw  in  death 
the  sole  solution  of  this  hidden  tragedy.  A  lifetime  of 
anger,  jealousy,  and  rage  lay  in  those  two  months  be- 
tween the  time  my  mother  told  me  of  your  relations  with 
Lady  Dudley,  and  your  return  to  Clochegourde.  I 
wished  to  go  to  Paris  ;  murder  was  in  my  heart ;  I  de- 
sired that  woman's  death  ;  I  was  indifferent  to  my  chil- 
dren. Prayer,  which  had  hitherto  been  to  me  a  balm, 
was  now  without  influence  on  my  soul.     Jealousy  made 


330  The  Lily  of  the  Valley. 

the  breach  through  which  death  has  entered.  And  jet 
I  have  kept  a  placid  brow.  Yes,  that  period  of  struggle 
was  a  secret  between  God  and  myself.  After  your  re- 
turn and  when  I  saw  that  I  was  loved,  even  as  I  loved 
you,  that  nature  had  betrayed  me  and  not  your  thought, 
I  wished  to  live,  —  it  was  then  too  late !  God  had 
taken  me  under  his  protection,  filled  no  doubt  with  pity 
for  a  being  true  with  herself,  true  with  him,  whose  suf- 
ferings had  often  led  her  to  the  gates  of  the  sanctuary. 

My  beloved  !  God  has  judged  me,  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf  will  pardon  me,  but  you  —  will  you  be  merciful  ? 
Will  you  listen  to  this  voice  which  now  issues  from  my 
tomb?  Will  you  repair  the  evils  of  which  we  are 
equally  guilty?  —  yon,  perhaps,  less  than  I.  You  know 
what  I  wish  to  ask  of  you.  Be  to  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf  what  a  sister  of  charitj*  is  to  a  sick  man  ;  listen  to 
him,  love  him  —  no  one  loves  him.  Interpose  between 
him  and  his  children  as  I  have  done.  Your  task  will 
not  be  a  long  one.  Jacques  will  soon  leave  home  to  be 
in  Paris  near  his  grandfather,  and  you  have  long  prom- 
ised me  to  guide  him  there  through  the  dangers  of  that 
life.  As  for  Madeleine,  she  will  marry  ;  I  pray  that 
you  may  please  her.  She  is  all  myself,  but  stronger ; 
she  has  the  will  in  which  I  am  lacking ;  the  energy 
necessar}'  for  the  companion  of  a  man  whose  career 
destines  him  to  the  storms  of  political  life  ;  she  is  Clevel- 
and perceptive.  If  your  lives  are  united  she  will  be 
happier  than  her  mother.  By  acquiring  the  right  to 
continue  my  work  at  Clochegourde  }*ou  will  blot  out  the 
faults  I  have  not  sufficiently  expiated,  though  they  are 
pardoned  in  heaven  and  also  on  earth,  for  he  is  gener- 
ous and  will  forgive  me.     You  see  I  am  ever  selfish ; 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  331 

is  it  not  the  proof  of  a  despotic  love  ?  I  wish  you  to 
still  love  me  in  mine.  Unable  to  be -yours  in  life,  I  be- 
queath to  you  my  thoughts  and  also  my  duties.  If  you 
do  not  wish  to  many  Madeleine  you  will  at  least  seek 
the  repose  of  my  soul  by  making  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
as  happy  as  he  ever  can  be. 

Farewell,  dear  child  of  my  heart ;  this  is  the  farewell 
of  a  mind  absolutely  sane,  still  full  of  life  ;  the  farewell 
of  a  spirit  on  which  thou  hast  shed  too  many  and  too 
great  joys  to  suffer  thee  to  feel  remorse  for  the  catas- 
trophe they  have  caused.  I  use  that  word  u  catastrophe  " 
thinking  of  you  and  how  you  love  me  ;  as  for  me,  I  reach 
the  haven  of  my  rest,  sacrificed  to  duty  and  not  without 
regret  —  ah!  I  tremble  at  that  thought.  God  knows 
better  than  I  whether  I  have  fulfilled  his  holy  laws  in 
accordance  with  their  spirit.  Often,  no  doubt,  I  have 
tottered,  but  I  have  not  fallen  ;  the  most  potent  cause 
of  my  wrong-doing  las'  in  the  grandeur  of  the  seduc- 
tions that  encompassed  me.  The  Lord  will  behold  me 
trembling  when  I  enter  his  presence  as  though  I  had 
succumbed.  Farewell  again,  a  long  farewell,  like  that 
I  gave  last  night  to  our  dear  valley,  where  I  soon  shall 
rest  and  where  you  will  often  —  will  you  not?  —  return. 

Henriette. 

I  fell  into  an  abyss  of  terrible  reflections,  as  I  per- 
ceived the  depths  unknown  of  the  life  now  lighted  up 
by  this  expiring  flame.  The  clouds  of  my  egotism 
rolled  away.  She  had  suffered  as  much  as  I  —  more 
than  I,  for  she  was  dead.  She  believed  that  others 
would  be  kind  to  her  friend  ;  she  was  so  blinded  b}'  love 
that  she  had  never  so  much  as  suspected  the  enmity  of 


332  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

her  daughter.  That  last  proof  of  her  tenderness  pained 
me  terribly.  Poor  Henriette  wished  to  give  me  Cloche- 
gourde  and  her  daughter. 

Natalie,  from  that  dread  day  when  first  I  entered  a 
graveyard  following  the  remains  of  my  noble  Henriette, 
whom  now  3~ou  know,  the  sun  has  been  less  warm,  less 
luminous,  the  nights  more  gloom}-,  movement  less  agile, 
thought  more  dull.  There  are  some  departed  whom  we 
bury  in  the  earth,  but  there  are  others  more  deeply 
loved  for  whom  our  souls  are  winding-sheets,  whose 
memory  mingles  daily  with  our  heart-beats  ;  we  think  of 
them  as  we  breathe ;  they  are  in  us  hy  the  tender  law 
of  a  metempsychosis  special  to  love.  A  soul  is  within 
my  soul.  When  some  good  thing  is  done  by  me,  when 
some  true  word  is  spoken,  that  soul  acts  and  speaks. 
All  that  is  good  within  me  issues  from  that  grave,  as  the 
fragrance  of  a  lily  fills  the  air;  sarcasm,  bitterness,  all 
that  3Tou  blame  in  me  is  mine.  Natalie,  when  next  my 
eyes  are  darkened  by  a  cloud  or  raised  to  heaven  after 
long  contemplation  of  earth,  when  my  lips  make  no 
reply  to  your  words  or  3'our  devotion,  do  not  ask  me 
again,  'k  Of  what  are  }Tou  thinking?" 

Dear  Natalie,  I  ceased  to  write  some  days  ago  ;  these 
memories  were  too  bitter  for  me.  Still,  I  owe  3*011  an 
account  of  the  events  which  followed  this  catastrophe ; 
they  need  few  words.  When  a  life  is  made  up  of  action 
and  movement  it  is  soon  told,  but  when  it  passes  in  the 
higher  regions  of  the  soul  its  story  becomes  diffuse. 
Henriette's  letter  put  the  star  of  hope  before  my  eyes. 
In  this  great  shipwreck  I  saw  an  isle  on  which  I  might 
be  rescued.     To  live  at  Clochegourde  with  Madeleine, 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  333 

consecrating  my  life  to  hers,  was  a  fate  which  satisfied 
the  ideas  of  which  my  heart  was  full.  But  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  know  the  truth  as  to  her  real  feelings.  As 
I  was  bound  to  bid  the  count  farewell,  I  went  to  Cloche- 
gourde  to  see  him,  and  met  him  on  the  terrace.  We 
walked  up  and  down  for  some  time.  At  first  he  spoke 
of  the  countess  like  a  man  who  knew  the  extent  of  his 
loss,  and  all  the  injury  it  was  doing  to  his  inner  self. 
But  after  the  first  outbreak  of  his  grief  was  over  he 
seemed  more  concerned  about  the  future  than  the  pres- 
ent. He  feared  his  daughter,  who,  he  told  me,  had  not 
her  mother's  gentleness.  Madeleine's  firm  character,  in 
which  there  was  something  heroic  blending  with  her 
mother's  gracious  nature,  alarmed  the  old  man,  used  to 
Henriette's  tenderness,  and  he  now  foresaw  the  power 
of  a  will  that  never  yielded.  His  only  consolation  for 
his  irreparable  loss,  he  said,  was  the  certainty  of  soon 
rejoining  his  wife ;  the  agitations,  the  griefs  of  these 
last  few  weeks  had  increased  his  illness  and  brought 
back  all  his  former  pains ;  the  struggle  which  he  fore- 
saw between  his  authority  as  a  father  and  that  of  his 
daughter,  now  mistress  of  the  house,  would  end  his 
days  in  bitterness ;  for  though  he  could  have  struggled 
against  his  wife,  he  should,  he  knew,  be  forced  to  give 
way  before  his  child.  Besides,  his  son  was  soon  to 
leave  him  ;  his  daughter  would  marry,  and  what  sort  of 
son-in-law  was  he  likely  to  have?  Though  he  thus 
talked  of  dying,  his  real  distress  was  in  feeling  himself 
alone  for  many  years  to  come  without  sympathj\ 

During  this  hour  when  he  spoke  onty  of  himself,  and 
asked  for  my  friendship  in  his  wife's  name,  he  completed 
a  picture  in  m}T  mind  of  the  remarkable  figure  of  the 


334  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

fimigre* ',  —  one  of  the  most  imposing  types  of  our  period. 
In  appearance  he  ,was  frail  and  broken,  but  life  seemed 
persistent  in  him  because  of  his  sober  habits  and  his 
country  avocations.     He  is  still  living. 

Though  Madeleine  could  see  me  on  the  terrace,  she 
did  not  come  down.  Several  times  she  came  out  upon 
the  portico  and  went  in  again,  as  if  to  signify  her 
contempt.  I  seized  a  moment  when  she  appeared  to 
beg  the  count  to  go  to  the  house  and  call  her,  saying  I 
had  a  last  wish  of  her  mother  to  convey  to  her,  and 
this  would  be  m^y  011I3'  opportunit}*  of  doing  so.  The 
count  brought  her,  and  left  us  alone  together  on  the 
terrace. 

M  Dear  Madeleine,"  I  said,  "  if  I  am  to  speak  to  you, 
surely  it  should  be  here  where  3'our  mother  listened  to 
me  when  she  felt  she  had  less  reason  to  complain  of 
me  than  of  the  circumstances  of  life.  I  know  your 
thoughts ;  but  are  you  not  condemning  me  without  a 
knowledge  of  the  facts?  My  life  and  happiness  are 
bound  up  in  this  place ;  you  know  that,  and  yet  you 
seek  to  banish  me  by  the  coldness  you  show,  in  place  of 
the  brotherly  affection  which  has  always  united  us,  and 
which  death  should  have  strengthened  by  the  bonds  of 
a  common  grief.  Dear  Madeleine,  you  for  whom  I 
would  gladly  give  my  life  without  hope  of  recompense, 
without  your  even  knowing  it,  —  so  deeply  do  we  love 
the  children  of  those  who  have  succored  us, — you  are 
not  aware  of  the  project  your  adorable  mother  cherished 
during  the  last  seven  years.  If  you  knew  it  your  feel- 
ings would  doubtless  soften  towards  me ;  but  I  do  not 
wish  to  take  advantage  of  you  now.  All  that  I  ask  is 
that  you  do  not  deprive  me  of  the  right  to  come  here, 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  335 

to  breathe  the  air  on  this  terrace,  and  to  wait  until  time 
has  changed  your  ideas  of  social  life.  At  this  moment 
I  desire  not  to  ruffle  them  ;  I  respect  a  grief  which  mis- 
leads 30U,  for  it  takes  even  from  me  the  power  of  judg- 
ing soberly  the  circumstances  in  which  I  find  myself. 
The  saint  who  now  looks  down  upon  us  will  approve 
the  reticence  with  which  I  simply  ask  that  you  stand 
neutral  between  3-0111*  present  feelings  and  nrv  wishes. 
I  love  you  too  well,  in  spite  of  the  aversion  you  are 
showing  me,  to  sa}T  one  word  to  the  count  of  a  proposal 
he  would  welcome  eagerly.  Be  free.  Later,  remember 
that  you  know  no  one  in  the  world  as  you  know  me, 
that  no  man  will  ever  have  more  devoted  feelings  — " 

Up  to  this  moment  Madeleine  had  listened  with 
lowered  eyes ;  now  she  stopped  me  by  a  gesture. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  in  voice  trembling  with  emo- 
tion. "I  know  all  3-our  thoughts;  but  I  shall  not 
change  my  feelings  towards  you.  I  would  rather  fling 
myself  into  the  Indre  than  ally  myself  to  you.  I  will 
not  speak  to  3'ou  of  myself,  but  if  my  mother's  name 
still  possesses  any  power  over  3'ou,  in  her  name  I  beg 
3'ou  never  to  return  to  Clochegourde  so  long  as  I  am  in 
it.  The  mere  sight  of  3'ou  causes  me  a  repugnance  I 
cannot  express,  but  which  I  shall  never  overcome." 

She  bowed  to  me  with  dignity,  and  returned  to  the 
house  without  looking  back,  impassible  as  her  mother 
had  been  for  one  da3'  only,  but  more  pitiless.  The 
searching  eye  of  that  young  girl  had  discovered,  though 
tardily,  the  secrets  of  her  mother's  heart,  and  her  hatred 
to  the  man  whom  she  fancied  fatal  to  that  mother's  life 
ma3r  have  been  increased  by  a  sense  of  her  innocent 
complicity. 


336  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

All  before  me  was  now  chaos.  Madeleine  hated  me, 
without  considering  whether  I  was  the  cause  or  the 
victim  of  these  misfortunes.  She  might  have  hated  us 
equally,  her  mother  and  me,  had  we  been  happy.  Thus 
it  was  that  the  edifice  of  nry  happiness  fell  in  ruins.  I 
alone  knew  the  life  of  that  unknown,  noble  woman. 
I  alone  had  entered  every  region  of  her  soul ;  neither 
mother,  father,  husband,  nor  children  had  ever  known 
her. — Strange  truth!  I  stir  this  heap  of  ashes  and 
take  pleasure  in  spreading  them  before  you  ;  all  hearts 
may  find  something  in  them  of  their  closest  experience. 
How  many  families  have  had  their  Henriette  !  How 
many  noble  beings  have  left  this  earth  with  no  historian 
to  fathom  their  hearts,  to  measure  the  depth  and 
breadth  of  their  spirits.  Such  is  human  life  in  all  its 
truth  !  Often  mothers  know  their  children  as  little  as 
their  children  know  them.  So  it  is  with  husbands, 
lovers,  brothers  Did  I  imagine  that  one  daj',  beside 
my  father's  coffin,  I  should  contend  with  my  brother 
Charles,  for  whose  advancement  I  had  done  so  much  ? 
Good  God  !  how  many  lessons  in  the  simplest  history. 

When  Madeleine  disappeared  into  the  house,  I  went 
awa}T  with  a  broken  heart.  Bidding  farewell  to  my 
host  at  Sache,  I  started  for  Paris,  following  the  right 
bank  of  the  Indre,  the  one  I  had  taken  when  I  entered 
the  valley  for  the  first  time.  Sadly  I  drove  through 
the  pretty  village  of  Pont-de-Ruan.  Yet  I  was  rich, 
political  life  courted  me ;  I  was  not  the  weaiy  plodder 
of  1814.  Then  nry  heart  was  full  of  eager  desires, 
now  my  eyes  were  full  of  tears ;  once  1113'  life  was  all 
before  me  to  fill  as  I  would,  now  I  knew  it  to  be  a 
desert.     I   was  still  young,  —  only  twenty-nine, — but 


The  Lily  of  the    Valley.  337 

my  heart  was  withered.  A  few  }ears  had  sufficed  to 
despoil  that  landscape  of  its  early  glory,  and  to  disgust 
me  with  life.  You  can  imagine  my  feelings  when,  on 
turning  round,  I  saw  Madeleine  on  the  terrace. 

A  prey  to  imperious  sadness,  I  gave  no  thought  to 
the  end  of  m}*  journey.  Ladj7  Dudley  was  far,  indeed, 
from  my  mind,  and  I  entered  the  courtyard  of  her 
house  without  reflection.  The  folh'  once  committed, 
I  was  forced  to  carry  it  out.  My  habits  were  conjugal 
in  her  house,  and  I  went  upstairs  thinking  of  the  an- 
noyances of  a  rupture.  If  you  have  fully  understood 
the  character  and  manners  of  Lad}r  Dudley,  you  can 
imagine  my  discomfiture  when  her  majordomo  ushered 
me,  still  in  m}T  travelling  dress,  into  a  salon  where  I 
found  her  sumptuously  dressed  and  surrounded  by  four 
persons.  Lord  Dudley,  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
old  statesmen  of  England,  was  standing  with  his  back 
to  the  fireplace,  stiff,  haughty,  frigid,  with  the  sarcastic 
air  he  doubtless  wore  in  parliament ;  he  smiled  when 
he  heard  my  name.  Arabella's  two  children,  who  were 
amazingly  like  de  Marsay  (a  natural  son  of  the  old 
lord),  were  near  their  mother ;  de  Marsay  himself  was 
on  the  sofa  beside  her.  As  soon  as  Arabella  saw  me 
she  assumed  a  distant  air,  and  glanced  at  my  travelling 
cap  as  if  to  ask  what  brought  me  there.  She  looked 
me  over  from  head  to  foot,  as  though  I  were  some 
county  gentleman  just  presented  to  her.  As  for  our 
intimacy,  that  eternal  passion,  those  vows  of  suicide 
if  I  ceased  to  love  her,  those  visions  of  Armida,  all 
had  vanished  like  a  dream.  I  had  never  clasped  her 
hand ;  I  was  a  stranger ;  she  knew  me  not.  In  spite 
of  the  diplomatic  self-possession  to  which  I  was  grad- 

22 


338  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

uall}T  being  trained,  I  was  confounded  ;  and  all  others 
in  my  place  would  have  felt  the  same.  De  Marsa}r 
smiled  at  his  boots,  which  he  examined  with  remark- 
able interest.  I  decided  at  once  upon  my  course. 
From  any  other  woman  I  should  modestly  have  ac- 
cepted ni}T  defeat ;  but,  outraged  at  the  glowing  appear- 
ance of  the  heroine  who  had  vowed  to  die  for  love,  and 
who  had  scoffed  at  the  woman  who  was  realty  dead,  I 
resolved  to  meet  insolence  with  insolence.  She  knew 
very  well  the  misfortunes  of  Lady  Brandon  ;  to  remind 
her  of  them  was  to  send  a  dagger  to  her  heart,  though 
the  weapon  might  be  blunted  by  the  blow. 

"  Madame,"  I  said,  "  I  am  sure  }'ou  will  pardon  my 
unceremonious  entrance,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have 
just  arrived  from  Touraine,  and  that  Lad}7  Brandon  has 
given  me  a  message  for  }*ou  which  allows  of  no  delay. 
I  feared  }*ou  had  alread}'  started  for  Lancashire,  but 
as  you  are  still  in  Paris  I  will  await  your  orders  at  any 
hour  you  ma}7  be  pleased  to  appoint." 

She  bowed,  and  I  left  the  room.  Since  that  day  I 
have  only  met  her  in  societ}',  where  we  exchange  a 
friendly  bow,  and  occasionally  a  sarcasm.  I  talk  to 
her  of  the  inconsolable  women  of  Lancashire ;  she 
makes  allusion  to  Frenchwomen  who  dignify  their 
gastric  troubles  by  calling  them  despair.  Thanks  to 
her,  I  have  a  mortal  enemy  in  de  Marsay,  of  whom 
she  is  very  fond.  In  return,  I  call  her  the  wife  of  two 
generations. 

So  my  disaster  was  complete  ;  it  lacked  nothing.  I 
followed  the  plan  I  had  laid  out  for  myself  during  my 
retreat  at  Sache  ;  I  plunged  into  work  and  gave  myself 
wholly  to  science,  literature,  and  politics.     I  entered 


,4 
I 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  339 

the  diplomatic  service  on  the  accession  of  Charles  X., 
who  suppressed  the  employment  I  held  under  the  late 
king.  From  that  moment  I  was  firmty  resolved  to  pay 
no  further  attention  to  an}T  woman,  no  matter  how 
beautiful,  witty,  or  loving  she  might  be.  This  deter- 
mination succeeded  admirably ;  I  obtained  a  really 
marvellous  tranquillity  of  mind,  and  great  powers  of 
work,  and  I  came  to  understand  how  much  these 
women  waste  our  lives,  believing,  all  the  while,  that 
a  few  gracious  words  will  repay  us. 

But  —  all  my  resolutions  came  to  nought ;  you  know 
how  and  why.  Dear  Natalie,  in  telling  yon  my  life, 
without  reserve,  without  concealment,  precisely  as 
I  tell  it  to  m}rself,  in  relating  to  you  feelings  in  which 
you  have  had  no  share,  perhaps  I  have  wounded  some 
corner  of  your  sensitive  and  jealous  heart.  But  that 
which  might  anger  a  common  woman  will  be  to  you  — 
I  feel  sure  of  it  —  an  additional  reason  for  loving  me. 
Noble  women  have  indeed  a  sublime  mission  to  fulfil  to 
suffering  and  sickened  hearts,  —  the  mission  of  the 
sister  of  charity  who  stanches  the  wound,  of  the  mother 
who  forgives  a  child.  Artists  and  poets  are  not  the 
only  ones  who  suffer ;  men  who  work  for  their  country, 
for  the  future  destiny  of  the  nations,  enlarging  thus  the 
circle  of  their  passions  and  their  thoughts,  often  make 
for  themselves  a  cruel  solitude.  The}^  need  a  pure, 
devoted  love  beside  them,  —  believe  me,  they  under- 
stand its  grandeur  and  its  worth. 

To-morrow  I  shall  know  if  I  have  deceived  myself  in 
loving  you. 

F6LTX. 


340  The  Lily  of  the    Volley. 


ANSWER   TO   THE  ENVOI. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  Natalie  de  Maneryille  to  Monsieur 
le  Comte  Felix  de  Vandenesse. 

Dear  count,  —  You  received  a  letter  from  poor 
Madame  de  Mortsauf,  which,  3*ou  say,  was  of  use  in 
guiding  you  through  the  world,  —  a  letter  to  which  you 
owe  your  distinguished  career.  Permit  me  to  finish 
your  education. 

Give  up,  I  beg  of  you,  a  realty  dreadful  habit ;  do  not 
imitate  certain  widows  who  talk  of  their  first  husband 
and  throw  the  virtues  of  the  deceased  in  the  face  of 
their  second.  I  am  a  Frenchwoman,  dear  count ;  I 
wish  to  many  the  whole  of  the  man  I  love,  and  I  really 
cannot  marry  Madame  de  Mortsauf  too.  Having  read 
3*our  tale  with  all  the  attention  it  deserves,  —  and  you 
know  the  interest  I  feel  in  you,  —  it  seems  to  me  that 
you  must  have  wearied  Lady  Dudley  with  the  perfec- 
tions of  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  and  done  great  harm  to 
the  countess  03*  overwhelming  her  with  the  experiences 
of  your  English  love.  Also  3*011  have  failed  in  tact  to 
me,  poor  creature  without  other  merit  than  that  of 
pleasing  you ;  you  have  given  me  to  understand  that  I 
cannot  love  as  Henriette  or  as  Arabella  loved  you.  I 
acknowledge  my  imperfections  ;  I  know  them  ;  but  why 
so  roughty  make  me  feel  them? 

Shall  I  tell  you  whom  I  pity?  —  the  fourth  woman 
whom  you  love.  She  will  be  forced  to  struggle  against 
three  others.  Therefore,  in  3*0111*  interests  as  well  as  in 
hers,  I  must  warn  3*011  against  the  dangers  of  3*our  tale. 
For  myself,  I  renounce  the  laborious  glory  of  loving 
you,  —  it  needs  too  many  virtues,  Catholic  or  Anglican, 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  341 

and  I  have  no  fancy  for  rivalling  phantoms.  The  vir- 
tues of  the  virgin  of  Clochegourde  would  dishearten  an}' 
woman,  however  sure  of  herself  she  might  be,  and 
your  intrepid  English  amazon  discourages  even  a  wish 
for  that  sort  of  happiness.  No  matter  what  a  poor 
woman  may  do,  she  can  never  hope  to  give  you  the  joys 
she  will  aspire  to  give.  Neither  heart  nor  senses  can 
triumph  against  these  memories  of  yours.  I  own  that 
I  have  never  been  able  to  warm  the  sunshine  chilled  for 
you  by  the  death  of  your  sainted  Henriette.  I  have 
felt  you  shuddering  beside  me. 

My  friend,  —  for  you  will  always  be  my  friend,  —  never 
make  such  confidences  again  ;  the}'  lay  bare  your  disil- 
lusions ;  they  discourage  love,  and  compel  a  woman  to 
feel  doubtful  of  herself.  Love,  dear  count,  can  only 
live  on  trustfulness.  The  woman  who  before  she  says 
a  word  or  mounts  her  horse,  must  ask  herself  whether 
a  celestial  Henriette  might  not  have  spoken  better, 
whether  a  rider  like  Arabella  was  not  more  graceful, 
that  woman  you  may  be  very  sure,  will  tremble  in  all 
her  members.  You  certainly  have  given  me  a  desire  to 
receive  a  few  of  those  intoxicating  bouquets  —  but  you 
say  you  will  make  no  more.  There  are  many  other 
things  you  dare  no  longer  do  ;  thoughts  and  enjoyments 
you  can  never  reawaken.  No  woman,  and  you  ought 
to  know  this,  will  be  willing  to  elbow  in  your  heart  the 
phantom  whom  you  hold  there. 

You  ask  me  to  love  you  out  of  Christian  charity.  I 
could  do  much,  I  candidly  admit,  for  charity  ;  in  fact  I 
could  do  all  —  except  love.  You  are  sometimes  weari- 
some and  wearied ;  you  call  your  dulness  melancholy. 
Very  good,  —  so  be  it ;  but  ail  the  same  it  is  intolerable, 


342  The  Lily  of  the   Valley. 

and  causes  much  cruel  anxiet}-  to  one  who  loves  you.  I 
have  often  found  the  grave  of  that  saint  between  us.  I 
have  searched  m}T  own  heart,  I  know  myself,  and  I  own 
I  do  not  wish  to  die  as  she  did.  If  you  tired  out  Lady 
Dudley,  who  is  a  very  distinguished  woman,  I,  who 
have  not  her  passionate  desires,  should,  I  fear,  turn 
coldly  against  you  even  sooner  than  she  did.  Come, 
let  us  suppress  love  between  us,  inasmuch  as  you  can 
find  happiness  only  with  the  dead,  and  let  us  be  merely 
friends  —  I  wish  it. 

Ah!  my  dear  count,  what  a  histoiy  30U  have  told 
me  !  At  your  entrance  into  life  you  found  an  adorable 
woman,  a  perfect  mistress,  who  thought  of  your  future, 
made  30U  a  peer,  loved  you  to  distraction,  onty  asked  that 
3'ou  would  be  faithful  to  her,  and  you  killed  her !  I  know 
nothing  more  monstrous.  Among  all  the  passionate  and 
unfortunate  young  men  who  haunt  the  streets  of  Paris, 
I  doubt  if  there  is  one  who  would  not  stay  virtuous  ten 
years  to  obtain  one  half  of  the  favors  you  did  not  know 
how  to  value  !  When  a  man  is  loved  like  that  how  can 
he  ask  more?  Poor  woman  !  she  suffered  indeed  ;  and 
after  you  have  written  a  few  sentimental  phrases  3-011 
think  you  have  balanced  your  account  with  her  coffin. 
Such,  no  doubt,  is  the  end  that  awaits  m3r  tenderness 
for  you.  Thank  you,  dear  count,  I  will  have  no  rival  on 
either  side  the  grave.  When  a  man  has  such  a  crime 
upon  his  conscience,  at  least  he  ought  not  to  tell  of  it. 
I  made  you  an  imprudent  request ;  but  I  was  true  to 
my  woman's  part  as  a  daughter  of  Eve,  —  it  was  your 
part  to  estimate  the  effect  of  your  answer.  You  ought 
to  have  deceived  me;  later  I  should  have  thanked  30U. 
Is  it  possible  that  30U  have  never  understood  the  spe- 


The  Lily  of  the   Valley.  343 

cial  virtue  of  lovers?  Can  3-011  not  feel  how  generous 
they  are  in  swearing  that  they  have  never  loved  before, 
and  love  at  last  for  the  first  time? 

No,  your  programme  cannot  be  carried  out.  To 
attempt  to  be  both  Madame  de  Mortsauf  and  Lady 
Dudley,  —  why,  my  dear  friend,  it  would  be  trying  to 
unite  fire  and  water  within  me !  Is  it  possible  that  you 
don't  know  women?  Believe  me,  the}'  are  what  the}' 
are,  and  they  have  therefore  the  defects  of  their  virtues. 
You  met  Lad}'  Dudley  too  early  in  life  to  appreciate 
her,  and  the  harm  you  say  of  her  seems  to  me  the  re- 
venge of  your  wounded  vanity.  You  understood  Ma- 
dame de  Mortsauf  too  late  ;  you  punished  one  for  not 
being  the  other,  — what  would  happen  to  me  if  I  were 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other?  I  love  you  enough  to 
have  thought  deeply  about  your  future  ;  in  fact,  I  really 
care  for  you  a  great  deal.  Your  air  of  the  Knight  of 
the  Sad  Countenance  has  always  deeply  interested  me  ; 
I  believed  in  the  constancy  of  melancholy  men  ;  but  I 
little  thought  that  you  had  killed  the  loveliest  and  the 
most  virtuous  of  women  at  the  opening  of  your  life. 

Well,  I  ask  myself,  what  remains  for  you  to  do?  I 
have  thought  it  over  carefully.  I  think,  my  friend,  that 
you  will  have  to  marry  a  Mrs.  Shandy,  who  will  know 
nothing  of  love  or  of  passion,  and  will  not  trouble 
herself  about  Madame  de  Mortsauf  or  Lady  Dudley ; 
who  will  be  wholly  indifferent  to  those  moments  of  en- 
nui which  you  call  melancholy,  during  which  you  are  as 
lively  as  a  rainy  day,  —  a  wife  who  will  be  to  you,  in 
short,  the  excellent  sister  of  charity  whom  you  are  seek- 
ing. But  as  for  loving,  quivering  at  a  word,  anticipat- 
ing happiness,  giving  it,  receiving  it,  experiencing  all 


344  The  Lily  of  the    Valley. 

the  tempests  of  passion,  cherishing  the  little  weaknesses 
of  a  beloved  woman  —  m}-  dear  count,  renounce  it  all ! 
You  have  followed  the  advice  of  your  good  angel 
about  3*oung  women  too  closeh' ;  you  have  avoided  them 
so  carefully  that  now  you  know  nothing  about  them. 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  right  to  place  you  high  in  life 
at  the  start ;  otherwise  all  women  would  have  been 
against  3Tou,  and  }Tou  never  would  have  risen  in  society. 
It  is  too  late  now  to  begin  your  training  over  again ; 
too  late  to  learn  to  tell  us  what  we  long  to  hear ;  to  be 
superior  to  us  at  the  right  moment,  or  to  worship  our 
pettiness  when  it  pleases  us  to  be  petty.  We  are  not 
so  silly  as  you  think  us.  When  we  love  we  place  the 
man  of  our  choice  above  all  else.  Whatever  shakes 
our  faith  in  our  supremacy  shakes  our  love.  In  flatter- 
ing us  men  flatter  themselves.  If  you  intend  to  remain 
in  society,  to  enjo}'  an  intercourse  with  women,  you 
must  carefullv  conceal  from  them  all  that  3'ou  have  told 
me ;  they  will  not  be  willing  to  sow  the  flowers  of  their 
love  upon  the  rocks  or  lavish  their  caresses  to  soothe 
a  sickened  spirit.  Women  will  discover  the  barrenness 
of  your  heart  and  3rou  will  be  ever  more  and  more  un- 
happy. Few  among  them  would  be  frank  enough  to 
tell  you  what  I  have  told  you,  or  sufficiently  good- 
natured  to  leave  you  without  rancor,  offering  their 
friendship,  like  the  woman  who  now  subscribes  herself 
Your  devoted  friend, 

Natalie  de  Manerville. 

V*^         Of   THE  r 

UNIVERSITY 


RETURN    CIRCULATION  DEPARTMEN 
TO—-*    202  Main  Library 


LOAN  PERIOD 
HOME  USE 


ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

Renewals  and  Recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  the 

Books  may  be  Renewed  by  calling       642-3405 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

^6n  o  JL^QQ^ 

» 

orrn  o  ft  ir.r."7 

SEP  I  o  1997 

-- 

FORM  NO.  DD6 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORN 
BERKELEY,  CA  94 


IB   04DI7 


^  U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 

:  III  II II IIIIH 


C00M1S1371 


£-6400 


£»£* 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


